


The Getaway

by hannibalmontanabal



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Murder Husbands, Smut, Violence, dark!Will, eventual killer will, will in a collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalmontanabal/pseuds/hannibalmontanabal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt.<br/>Hannibal is discovered for his crimes, and forces Will to go to Europe with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You've Made Your Grave, Now Lie

“They’ve found me out. I’m leaving for Italy tonight, before the FBI has time to file the appropriate paperwork.” Hannibal says plainly over dinner, as though he were discussing the weather. “Come with me, Will.”

“No.” Will answers. Hannibal glances up in surprise.

“Pardon?”

“You’ve made your grave.” Will bites out the words. “Now lie in it.”

 

“Come now, Will.” Hannibal starts, seemingly amused. “You’re certainly not innocent in this, and you’ll love Europe.”

Will had covered for Hannibal’s gruesome murders. He’d known for weeks now, but had kept it a secret. He didn’t know why. Probably he was in denial. Lying to himself as much as he was lying to anyone else. Hannibal was the only person Will trusted, and if he let himself really comprehend the fact that Hannibal Lecter and the Chesapeake Ripper were on in the same, Will would potentially fall apart.

Somehow it’s freeing for Will to know that someone else is onto Hannibal. He now feels that he can let their toxic relationship go.

“I won’t.” Will mumbles defiantly, and Hannibal looks momentarily stung.

“Think it over.” Is all Hannibal says.

——

That night, Will doesn’t sleep. He tosses and turns violently in his bed, huffing in defeat when sleep won’t come. 

Before, Will would have called his psychiatrist, and Hannibal would have read a psychology textbook over the phone until the empath finally fell asleep to the comforting drone of the doctor’s voice.

Before, Hannibal would have come over with sleeping pills or whiskey. Would have stroked Will’s hair and told him of his travels. Would have hummed along to an unrecognizable opera. 

Before, Will didn’t know that he was falling for a serial killer. Once he’d put the pieces together, he went into shock. Nearly fainted. Hannibal confessed everything, as though it weren’t a big deal. Like it was just a somewhat unsavory part of his personality that hopefully Will could come to accept. He said it as though he were telling Will, “I don’t care for dogs.” Or “I’m not looking for a serious relationship right now.” He waved the confession away like it wasn’t important. Like it was something they could work through together, as a couple.

“You’ve eaten them, too, you know.” Hannibal said, as though it were a joke.

Something in Hannibal’s tone made Will calm. Will had nodded, trying to think clearly. He knew deep down that Hannibal was manipulating him into being much more comfortable with this than he ought to be, but his mind was too foggy to be rational. 

“You’ll keep this a secret, won’t you Will?” Hannibal had asked, knowing damn well that Will would.

“Yeah, of course.” Will had said numbly, self loathing and uncertainty clouding his thoughts.

And now, Hannibal expected that Will come when beckoned, like a dog. Follow the cannibal blindly to Europe as though it were some kind of romantic getaway. 

“Run away with me, Will.” Hannibal’s voice snakes through Will’s mind. 

“Yeah, sure.” He says to no one. Winston’s ears perk and the animal cocks it’s head, curious. “Run away from the law. How grand.”

Will scowls into the darkness, having conversations with Hannibal in his mind.

“It’s not me, it’s that you’re a cannibalistic serial murderer.” 

“You never once complained about my cooking.” The imagined Hannibal replies. 

Will groans, ripping the blanket off of himself and sitting up. He barely has time to cry out when Hannibal emerges silently from the corner of his room and covers Will’s mouth and nose with a cloth undoubtedly covered in chloroform. Will struggles, tries his best to hold his breath, though he knows it’s no use. He’s fighting against the inevitable.

“Will,” The villain says softly. “I have two plane tickets to Italy and it would be very rude of you to deny me. This will be good for you.”

Will tries desperately to force himself from Hannibal’s grip, accidentally gulping in air. The last thing he sees before it fades to black is Winston, licking Hannibal’s free hand.

_Traitor._


	2. Pet Peeve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's fun and games until it gets sad.  
> Hannibal and Will argue on the way to the airport.

Consciousness seeps into Will's mind slowly as he groggily blinks into the darkness. He groans, his body stiff and everything around him loud and overwhelming. He can feel that he's in a car, and he hears other vehicles whirr past, but all he sees are strange blurry lights and indefinite shapes.

"Ah, good. You're awake." Hannibal's voice sounds overly chipper, and Will can't exactly make out which direction it's coming from, though it's close. 

"Fuck you." He rasps, his own voice sounding muddled in his ears. Slowly, clarity comes to him, and he finds himself laying in the backseat of Hannibal's car. He wonders how many of Hannibal's victims have been in this very seat, and horrified, tries to pull himself up. He can't. His hands are bound beneath him, and are completely numb from lack of circulation. 

"Now, Will, let's be mature about this." Hannibal responds, amused. Will wants to claw his eyes out. But then, maybe Hannibal would like that, who knows? "I need you to be reasonable."

"Says the man who has me tied up in the back of his car." Will snarles.

"All lovers have their quarrels. I suppose that so, too, must we." Hannibal sighs, glancing at Will through the mirror. "I had honestly intended to give you a choice in this, Will. But I realized that I couldn't be without you; I need you by my side. We're better together, don't you agree?"

"Yeah, this is so romantic." Will's words are dripping with sarcasm, which, of course, Hannibal ignores. 

"You said yourself that you needed a vacation." Hannibal reminds him. Will doesn't know why he argues, it's not like Hannibal would let him go. "You'll love Europe. It will soothe your troubled mind." 

"My mind is troubled because I've been fucking you." Will growls. Before Hannibal can retort, he continues. "And you call this a vacation. Vacations end. You're not going to let me come back."

"You mustn't make assumptions, Will." Hannibal chides. "If, by the end of the month, you should want rid of me, I will let you go. You can tell them I held you hostage."

"You are holding me hostage." 

There's a moment of silence, and Will knows Hannibal is smiling to himself. This is all a game, probably. Another way for Hannibal to exert his power over Will and prove to Will how weak he is. How desperate for affection and companionship he is. Hannibal wants to prove that Will wants this. Maybe in some fucked up way, Will does. Hannibal wouldn't play a game that he might lose, so it's really very likely that when the end of the month comes, Hannibal will have found some reason to keep Will at his side. 

"I took the liberty of packing your bags for you, and I had a fake passport made. Your name is John Anderson. My name is Michael James. You'll behave when we arrive at the airport, won't you?" Hannibal says, his tone light, though Will knows it's a threat. He has a sinking realization.

"The dogs." He whispers. 

"I've made arrangements." Hannibal replies.

"What arrangements?" Will demands, feeling short of air. 

"Will," Hannibal starts. "This really isn't the best time to have this discussion."

"Tell me or I swear to god, Hannibal." Will is shaking, and he feels the start of a migraine coming on. "Tell me!"

"They've all been given good homes." Hannibal says softly, and Will feels like he's going to be sick. He lets out a choked sob, wheezing in his misery. Hannibal is silent for the remainder of the drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Will. D:


	3. A Man Can Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is a sad, sulky puppy, and has an existential crisis all over the airport.  
> Hannibal is a Hannibal.

Will sulks as they arrive in the parking garage. Sulks as Hannibal gets out, opens the back door, and unties Will's aching wrists, the scratchy blue twine falling to the floor. It's a sad sort of humor that such flimsy material was what kept Will bound. A metaphor could probably be made here in regards to what had always been keeping Will tied to Hannibal. It's not rope or chains, it's blood and sweat and self-loathing. Lust and longing and someone's twisted idea of "love."  
Will sulks as Hannibal pulls him out of the car, rubs blood flow back into his arms, and guides him into the airport.   
Will sulks as he wonders numbly if Hannibal lied.

Maybe the monster killed his dogs and ate them.

Maybe he just left them alone in Will's house to fend for themselves. If that were the case, Will thinks, the dogs would cannibalize each other. Maybe that was Hannibal's idea of a sick joke. 

It's all Will can do to keep from weeping again as they enter the bag check. Hannibal, of course, takes care of everything. In doing so he deprives Will of any power or responsibility. Will stands loyally and deftly by his side, eyes empty, expression blank, soul void. 

Maybe this is what he deserved. He had found out about Hannibal's gruesome crimes, but because he had so much empathy, because he had unknowingly walked through Hannibal's mind time and time again, he kept quiet. Even worked with Jack on cases, holding his tongue.

Hannibal left Will a brutalized body as a horrible kind of gift, as if to say, "Please, darling, profile me. Welcome to my mind, I did this all for you."

And Will had danced Hannibal's dark ballet, saw himself committing the murder. Felt himself cutting through flesh and bone, Expertly slicing the victim's cheeks off of his face while the man screamed.

" _This is my design_ "

Will had known straight away exactly who it was.

Jack Crawford called him the Ripper, Will called him to bed.   
  


And Will had covered for Hannibal, misleading Jack.

Will had lied, inventing convincing fabrications to keep the FBI from getting close to Hannibal.

And Hannibal had asked Will in such a professional and detached tone later that night, during their therapy session, 

"What did you see, Will?" 

Not, 'did you like my gift?'

Not, 'I killed him for you.'

Not, 'I want to know if you felt what I felt when I ripped his tongue out of his throat and watched him gurgle, choke, and vomit on his own blood.'

 

No.

Hannibal had the audacity to ask, "Why do you think The Ripper peeled away the man's eyelids? Was it so his victim would see him more clearly, do you think?"

It was no wonder that Will Graham was going crazy, considering the Chesapeake Ripper was both his psychiatrist and his lover. 

And when Jack had asked Will if the crime was committed by The Ripper,

Will simply shook his head doubtfully and muttered, "I really don't think so. This is something else, entirely."

That lie cemented Will's fate forever. That lie was why Will didn't try to make a run for it as he followed Hannibal dazedly through the airport terminal, sad and withdrawn.

He could have easily found a security guard. Could have called Jack Crawford to tell him that he was being held captive. But Will simply didn't have the fight in him. Didn't have the self-preservation required to try to get away. 

Maybe Hannibal was right. Maybe Italy would be good for his frayed nerves. Lying to himself was a small comfort.

 

 

Hannibal presented security with their passports, and the metal detectors received them without so much as a beep. If airport metal detectors couldn't tell that Hannibal was a wretched beast, how could anyone else? 

Will continued to sulk as they boarded their flight, and Hannibal, always the stellar therapist, allowed him to grieve. 

Once they were in their seats, buckled in, luggage stowed away, Will let himself cry again. He knew that he was leaving his entire life behind him. What was sad was that there was very little to miss. All of Will's comfort and solace came from the company of Hannibal Lecter and those dogs. Now all that Will had was the doctor. 

A stewardess passed by, asked if he was okay. He didn't have the chance to answer for himself, not that he would have.

"We're flying to his sister's funeral in Florence." Hannibal tells her, stroking Will's back. "He's very upset." 

The stewardess looks at Will with so much pity. He wonders if she'd feel just as badly for him if she knew what was really happening. Probably not. Anyone in their right mind would be able to see that this is as much Will's fault as it is Hannibal's. Will had plenty of chances to get out of this situation before it had ever escalated. But Will had chosen Hannibal every time. Any possible opportunity for an out that was presented, Will waved away in the favor of Hannibal's dirty talk. Hannibal's cooking. Hannibal's talent of putting Will to sleep when nothing else would.

Will chose Hannibal. Will chose this. 

He dries his eyes, sniffling pathetically.

"There, there." Hannibal purrs. "In no time at all, we'll be sipping espresso together in a European cafe, an this will all be behind us." 

"Until you start a body count in Europe." Will answers. 

"Or until you do." Hannibal says, and Will is sent into a downward spiral of despair as the plane begins its ascension.

He fantasizes dreamily that maybe the plane will crash and neither he nor Hannibal will survive. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably give an angst warning for this, huh  
> Sorry not sorry


	4. The Snake On The Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is a pouty patootie some more, and Hannibal gets perverse pleasure out of it. Angst and descriptions of glorified/sexualized gore.

Unfortunately, the plane does not crash.

The flight is long and agonizing, though sitting in first class is much more preferable than economy seating. Will has become a little bit too accustomed to the luxuries that come along with being a wealthy man’s pet. 

Still, Will wants nothing more than to be alone in the safety of his darkened bedroom. Solitude is safe and comfortable. Will is on the very extreme end of introversion, and there’s nowhere to run to when you’re stuck at least 500 feet in the air with a serial killer, surrounded by a sea of people. People who have certain expectations.

For instance, the other passengers would probably find it a little more than irritating if Will started screaming, or sobbing. Or if he gave in to the temptation to run down the aisle and tried to pry open the air-locked door.

Or if he strangled Hannibal, who as far as the other passengers were concerned was just another perfectly normal and innocent human being who didn’t deserve to die. Not the wolf in sheep’s clothing that he truly was. 

Will feels like he’s under a microscope, observed too closely by everyone around him the entirety of the flight. He makes several runs to the small bathroom in the back of the plane, simply so that he can be alone for a moment. It’s an old habit Will picked up when he was young, to run and hide in the only room where no one would intrude. The only place where no one was watching. He wishes that he could just wake up from this particularly awful nightmare and find himself in his bed, surrounded by his dogs and the comforts of home. But he knows this is too horrible to be another dream. This miserable flight is real. Hannibal is real. But maybe Will is not real. Maybe Will is just a ghost, doomed to live through this tormented existence over and over. Maybe this isn’t the first time his tortured soul had lived through this exact experience. 

This is Will’s fifth trip to the bathroom, and he stares at his forlorn expression in the mirror, splashing cold water on his face.

He misses the days before he met Hannibal Lecter. He misses the cold stab of loneliness. It’s been too long since Will felt truly lonely, and it’s a feeling that most people don’t give enough credit. Maybe if he hadn’t taken his own loneliness for granted and tried to reach out for companionship, Will wouldn’t be in this mess right now. 

With a sad sigh, he dries his face on the inside of his shirt and opens the door. Hannibal is standing there, waiting for him, and Will realizes his frequent trips to the washroom are probably suspicious. To his captor, it probably looks like he’s trying to cry out for help, or to escape. The idea is so ridiculous that Will smiles, much in the way that some people laugh at funerals. Hannibal’s eyes are dark and dangerous as he follows Will to their seats, and Will can feel Hannibal’s cold stare burning through the back of his skull. When they take their respective seats, Hannibal rests a possessive hand on Will’s thigh. The message is clear.

_“Don’t attempt anything stupid, my dear Will. You will surely regret it.”_

_  
_Hannibal’s voice is more prominent and interwoven in Will’s mind than Will’s own. When Will’s thoughts have a voice, that voice has a smoky accent that slithers it’s way around Will’s frontal lobe like a snake through a garden. Nothing is safe, not even Will’s thoughts. Certainly not his soul.

Will considers sleep, and think better of it. Who knows what kind of nightmares he might have, or what state he’d be in when he awoke. 

“I hate you.” He whispers. “I hate you, I really do.”

“Good, Will. Very good” Hannibal replies. Will could slap him. “Express your passion. Tell me, what do you feel?”

“I feel hatred.” Will says through gritted teeth, his eyes brimming with hot tears that threaten to spill. “Pure unadulterated hatred.”

“One cannot experience hatred without also experiencing love.” Hannibal smiles warmly, sounding too much like a psychiatrist.

“I want you to die.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I want to kill you myself.” A few people turn and look at Will in concern. He ignores them. 

“Careful, Will. That kind of talk should be saved for the bedroom.”

“I want your bones to turn to dust in my hands.” Will hisses. He takes the hand that Hannibal has been holding on his knee and holds it tightly in his own, digs his nails into it. It’s not satisfying, though. Doesn’t draw blood, because Will’s nails are too blunt, having been chewed away in times of stress. The worst part is that he can see that Hannibal is aroused.

Worse, still, is that Will is aroused, too. 

Hannibal leans over, presses his lips against Will’s ear and whispers, “Ravage me with your words.” His breath is hot and sends shivers down Will’s spine. Will turns and whispers roughly into Hannibal’s ear,

“I want to rip your throat out with my teeth. Strangle you and watch your eyes roll back into your head as your neck snaps and your face turns blue.” Hannibal licks his lips. Shifts in his seat. “I want to eat your heart but I can’t, because you don’t fucking have one.” 

The obvious pleasure on Hannibal’s face makes Will’s throat constrict. 

“Remarkable boy, my heart was always yours.” Hannibal mutters, voice husky and raw with lust as he discreetly licks along Will’s jaw. 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated and turn off all electronic devices for the duration of the flight. We will be landing soon.” A woman’s voice chimes through the intercom. 

Will presses himself back into his seat and forces his eyes shut. He grips the armrest hard enough that his knuckles turn white, and tries to wish his unwanted erection away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teddy Grahams and Hanniboo 5ever am i rite?
> 
> Comments, critique, praise, and especially prompts always welcome. What are some theories that you guys have about what might happen next, hm?


	5. Power Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tries to regain some control over the situation to no avail, because Hannibal is a jerk.

Will feels Hannibal's hand pressing gently into the small of his back as they exit the plane. A small and subtle gesture to ensure that Will knows who is in charge. 

As if he could ever forget.

Everything is a blurry daze as they travel through another strange airport. Will isn't sure of where exactly they are. In fact he isn't even sure of where their destination is. He never had a chance to look at his own plane ticket, and Hannibal mentioned several places in Europe. Austria, Italy, Hannibal even said something about France at one point. Will realizes that it's entirely likely that Hannibal intentionally didn't tell Will exactly where they were going. Will hadn't paid enough attention, and he feels the creeping onset of anxiety that comes with confusion and disorientation. Hannibal is always three steps ahead. Always in complete control, leaving Will with nothing. Not even his sanity.

"Are you hungry?" Hannibal asks as they sit, waiting for the next connection flight. Will paid attention to the destination this time; they are flying to Rome. 

"No." Will replies, crossing his arms.

"You haven't eaten in at least sixteen hours, Will." Hannibal says sternly, pulling a brown paper bag from his luggage. "I packed you pâté maison for just such an occasion."

"That's liver, right?"

"Yes." Hannibal says, smiling. "Observant, aren't you?"

Will groans, feeling sick. 

"Let me guess, that's the other  _other_   white meat, right?"

Hannibal chuckles lightly.

"Correct." He says, holding the bag out for Will to accept. "Some refer to it as 'long pig.'" 

"I'm not touching that." Will recoils, holding his hands up as if to defend himself. "Besides, shouldn't you keep that shit refrigerated?"

Hannibal simply opens the bag, showing Will the ice packs that surround the food. 

"I'm not touching that." Will repeats stubbornly.

"It isn't poisoned Will, don't be childish." 

"It isn't poisoned because it is poison. You get off on feeding me that garbage, don't you?" Will regrets the words the instant he's said them. Hannibal's face is an inch from his, and Will has never seen Hannibal truly angry until now.

"No one has ever criticized my cooking and lived." Hannibal says, his voice is soft and calm, which somehow makes it that much more frightening. Will swallows, shrinks in his seat. He knows that this is what Hannibal is when his mask slips. 

"I'm sorry." He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. "I don't want to eat it, though. Please don't make me." 

Hannibal pulls back and puts the bag away, sighing. 

"If I buy you airport food, will you eat it?" Hannibal asks, and Will opens his eyes. 

"Yes." He answers hesitantly, hoping that this isn't a test. He adds, "Not because the food you make isn't good, just that I find it.. Unethical." 

"Very well." Hannibal rises to his feet. He holds out a hand to help Will up, and Will stubbornly refuses it, standing on his own. It's a small way of regaining some control, a modest victory. "Pick a restaurant, and I will buy you whatever you like."

Will chooses McDonald's. He knows Hannibal will observe this decision as a personal insult, and that's exactly how Will intends it. All of Will's attempts at slighting Hannibal are admittedly pitiful. Just a weak display of spite that doesn't give Will any real power or sense of accomplishment. Still, Will's unspoken "fuck you very much" doesn't go unnoticed. Hannibal looks at him with speculative eyes, and Will is almost certain that he's probably debating whether or not to murder Will where he stands, or to be proud of his tenacity.

"I just want a cheeseburger." Will says, and Hannibal frowns. 

"I put no small amount of effort into preparing a decent meal for you, William. I'd prefer that effort to not go to waste in favor of a cheeseburger." Will notes with a tiny sense of triumph that Hannibal used his full first name, much in the way that a disgruntled parent would. A clear sign that Will's sad attempts at regaining some control are at least proving to be an irritation.

"I don't know when I'll have another chance to eat American junk food." Will argues, feeling a bit more bold. "I just want the comforts of home. Please." 

"There are McDonald's restaurants in Europe." Hannibal says, but pulls cash out of his pocket just the same. Will takes a seat in the small airport McDonald's and watches with no small amount of pleasure as Hannibal orders him a cheeseburger. It's a sight he never thought he would live to see, and he can't help but smile despite everything else. Hannibal Lecter, the villainous cannibal, with his inhuman extravagance and absurdly fine taste, is buying Will McDonald's. Will almost laughs as he thinks that he should have demanded Hannibal buy him a Happy Meal.

Hannibal returns to the table with the bag of food, extending his arm in front of him like he's holding a bag of dog shit. It's a struggle for Will to hide his amusement as he takes the food, and Hannibal sits across from him. The psychiatrist eyes the table between them, visibly disgusted by the lack of sanitation. He looks to be silently counting the grains of salt that litter the cheap plastic table as Will takes a bite of the burger, smiling to himself. 

"Thank you." He says, swallowing. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until the food was in front of him, one-hundred-percent human-free. Fatty and salty and cheap, everything that Hannibal's cooking isn't. Will sighs, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat. Pretending that he's sitting at his own kitchen table, alone. He finishes his meal in quiet bliss, happy to pretend that Hannibal isn't sitting directly across from him, watching him eat something that Hannibal would probably not even consider food. 

"We had better hurry." Hannibal's voice pulls Will back to the surface. "Our plane will be boarding in fifteen minutes, and the sedative I slipped into your food will likely take effect soon."

Will stares at Hannibal in horror.

"What?" He has to force the word out. "I thought you said you wouldn't poison my food."

"The meal which I had prepared for you wasn't drugged, but you insisted on eating fast food." Hannibal shrugs, a malicious glint in his eye.

Of course Will never had any power. Not even a little bit.

All along, Hannibal was still three jumps ahead. 

Will is already starting to feel drowsy.

“Looks like you win again.” Will says dejectedly. ”You've got your claws in me. Seems you always have.” 

Hannibal doesn't reply right away, instead leans across the table and wipes ketchup from the side of Will's mouth. 

"You mustn't cling to personal freedom, sweet Will. It will only end up being ripped away, leaving you disappointed." 

Will glares at him, wanting more than anything to wipe that smug expression from the doctor's mouth. 

"You’re not a cannibal. Not really." Will says softly. "You eat human flesh, but you’re not really human."

"Ah, we're back to insults then, are we?"

"You're just a lowly scavenger."

"Now, I think we both know that isn't quite true." Hannibal replies. "I am at the top of the food chain. I am not a scavenger, but a predator."

"Am I your prey?" Will asks, forcing himself to stay focused and completely awake, even as whatever drug Hannibal poisoned him with tugs away at the confines of his mind. He feels his grip loosening, untying like ribbon.

"No, of course not."

"So I'm your chew toy, then." Will has never felt so powerless. So empty.

The beast simply smiles in response. Will feels like Hannibal is a hungry flame, and Will is just firewood. He wonders how long before Hannibal burns him up. Gets tired of the games and leaves Will to find his place among the ashes.

How long before Will no longer proves useful?

"Do you eat people's internal organs so that you can feel like a real person? When they say you are what you eat, that's not what they mean." Will's head rolls forward, and he knows the drug is taking effect. It's a struggle just to keep his eyes open.

"Will, you're speaking nonsense." Hannibal stands and straightens his jacket, brushing away nonexistent wrinkles. "Come now, we wouldn't want to miss our flight, would we?"

"I don't want to go." Will grumbles. "I want to sleep."

"Let's not be difficult." Hannibal says gently, pulling Will to his feet and walking him towards their gate. This is the last thing Will remembers.

 

He vaguely recalls being on the plane. He thinks he might recall Hannibal guiding him through another airport. He maybe remembers getting into a strange taxi. It's all a faraway dream, though. Something Will can't fully grasp. 

He fully comes to while Hannibal is pulling him up and out of the taxi. Hannibal hands Will his respective luggage and Will looks around to see that they are, in fact, in Italy, standing in front of a very nice hotel. He's still feeling very lost and out of it. Still feels like he might be asleep as they walk into the hotel's lobby.

Hannibal approaches the receptionist, and Will discovers that Hannibal speaks Italian very well; finds himself completely in awe of the way the words roll from Hannibal's tongue, drawn to the beauty of each syllable. 

"Two beds." Will grumbles, and Hannibal looks at him incredulously. 

"You've shared my bed before."

"I don't want to touch you, get a room with two beds." Will growls under his breath, and Hannibal stares at him with an expression that Will cannot read. 

Hannibal says something to the receptionist, and she nods. She holds up two fingers before typing something, and Will relaxes. At least he won't have to share his bed with the devil, tonight.

She hands Hannibal a room key. Hannibal says something to her in Italian. Will thinks it was likely a flirtation, because she blushes and covers her giggling with a manicured hand. Will cringes, realizing that he feels the slightest twinge of jealousy. 

"Come, Will." Hannibal beckons, as though calling a dog. And Will wonders if it's possible to die of self loathing as he hurries loyally to Hannibal's side. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably be smutty. I'm making this up as I go along.


	6. Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised porn, but I like to torture you all with the sexual tension. I was listening to Marilyn Manson's cover of Sweet Dreams are Made of This and pretty much any song ever written by IAMX and Vivaldi while I wrote this.

_John 8:44_

_Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it._

* * *

 

Hannibal guides Will by an invisible leash to their room. Will never strays. Never questions. It's not really loyalty, but it is submission. Defeat.

He affords Will no room key of his own, of course.

Will blinks numbly at the door, momentarily obsessing over the glint of the golden room number. 303, 303, 303. Three-oh-three-oh-three-three-three-three-oh-three.

The number snags on Will's mind and appears to melt, dripping hideous molten gold down the white door and onto the hotel's carpet, pooling at Will's feet like blood.

"Will." He hears a familiar voice beckoning, but the word it utters sounds distorted and metallic. He gets caught up in trying to define the word 'Will', and questions where he's heard it before. "Will" The voice calls again, and Will blinks. The room number has magically returned to its original form, and hangs on the door where it belongs.

Will wonders where he belongs; where he should be hanged, like a shiny gold trophy for Hannibal to keep. Just another useless knick-knack that Hannibal will keep on one of his shelves. In Will's mind, he is that room number. No definition or value, just a name and gold paint on Hannibal's door.

Suddenly Will wants nothing more than to tear those horrible gold digits from the door and destroy them so that they can be free. So that they don't have to exist in petty worthlessness any more.

He is suddenly aware that Hannibal is shaking him gently by the shoulders, and when Will realizes this he hisses and shoves Hannibal away, gasping for air. He feels a hot sting slice through his cheek as Hannibal slaps him expertly across the face, drawing blood.

"I said not to touch me." Will whines, crouching in the corner of the elegant room, as if he'd find any hope for shelter there. 

"You were unresponsive." Hannibal says, closing the space between them again. "Did you lose time?"

"No." Says Will, his voice sharpened with an accidental edge of defensiveness. He feels embarrassed, realizing that he had just felt empathy for their room number. "Not exactly." Hannibal stares at him for a moment, seeming to debate something as he sits on one of the enormous beds.

"Come here." He commands. His voice is gentle, but nothing Hannibal says is ever a request. 

"No." Will replies. He's shaking like a chihuahua and he feels something warm trickle down his cheek.

"You're bleeding, Will. Don't be stubborn." Will glares at his keeper before sighing in defeat and standing. He walks timidly towards the doctor, wincing when Hannibal pulls him down to sit on the bed. Hannibal examines his cheek, and Will hears the psychiatrist's breathing change ever so slightly, becoming erratic and shallow. "You mustn't provoke me, dear Will. I want only to keep you and to care for you. I could do this if you would cooperate."

Will is about to shoot back a sarcastic response but the words are extinguished in his throat as Hannibal licks at the blood that stains Will's cheek. 

"Dr. Lecter." Will gasps, and Hannibal chuckles softly at Will's refusal to acknowledge his first name. 

"Yes, Will?" Hannibal's breath is hot on Will's ear, and it's all that Will can do to keep from remembering the sweet but short-lived days when he thought he could trust in his psychiatrist. When they were friends, and lovers, and Will didn't know Hannibal's horrible dark secret. Will wished he had never figured it out. Then he wouldn't have to feel guilty about how badly he wants Hannibal. "I could give you the world, if you'd let me."

Will has always been easily seduced by Hannibal's words, and he feels his fingers dig into the sheets in resistance. 

"Let me in, Will." Hannibal continues. Will swallows. Shakes his head. "Let me in, and I can help you. Free you from the confines of your own beautiful mind. So like a gilded cage, your mind."

"No." Will whispers, covering his ears with his hands as if to drown out Hannibal's influence; break the spell. "If I'm trapped in my own head it's to keep me safe from you."

"And how is that working for you?" Hannibal purrs, and Will can hear the smile on Hannibal's face without needing to see it. It's the voice Hannibal uses when he's playing psychiatrist. Or rather, it's a cruel imitation of that voice. There's a mocking bite to Hannibal's tone, and Will feels like his head is going to explode. "I've seeped into your thoughts and inner workings, haven't I, Will? Tell me, can you look at your face in the mirror without seeing me? When you speak, are the words you use borrowed from me? Did you steal them from my tongue, like lovers so often do?"

"Shut up." Will says, but there's no authority behind it. It's practically a whimper. 

"I've slipped in through the bars of that cage you call a brain, haven't I, Will? When you breathe, am I what fills your lungs?"

"Shut up."

"Your blood tastes like me."

"Eat me." Will practically shouts it, then attempts to scamper off of the bed, afraid that Hannibal actually might. That maybe Hannibal is a vampire and all he needs is permission. Hannibal laughs, taking Will into his arms and forcing Will's head into his lap. This used to be the most comfortable and safe pace for Will to be. Now it feels like a death grip, with one of Hannibal's elegant hands smoothing Will's hair and the other stroking his throat. 

"Give in, Will." Hannibal smiles down at him, and Will shakes his head.

"I can't." He shivers, unintentionally nuzzling meekly into Hannibal's thigh. 

"Why not?" Hannibal asks, face lit with endearment. "Are you afraid that if you slip, even if for a moment, you might like it?"

"I'm scared I'll turn into you." Will sobs dryly, torn between wanting Hannibal to keep touching him and wanting to shove the monster away. 

"I understand." Hannibal says, and Will snuffles. He grabs Hannibal's jacket by the lapels and buries his face into Hannibal as much as he can. Tries to smell the rotting flesh that the cannibal has consumed. Tries to inhale Hannibal's evil, to detect it. But all Will can smell is home. Warmth and safety in the form of Hannibal's cologne. 

"Please release me." Will whimpers, though it is he who clings desperately to Hannibal.

"There's nothing holding you to me, dear one." Hannibal says softly, and Will feels near to shattering. 

"Don't tell me that. Don't you say that."

"It has always been your choice. I do not keep you."

"I am your prisoner." Will feels his heart pounding in his head. Feels himself start to sweat. "You're torturing me."

"It's all your invention, Will." Hannibal explains, and Will pulls himself up so that they're face to face. "If you would simply let go, you would see that you've had your freedom all along."

"Please stop." Will whispers, and Hannibal smiles. Will's resolve slips, and he let's himself lick Hannibal's lower lip. He's full of confused frenzy, and he knows that Hannibal is misguiding him again. Clouding his mind and choking him with his own bittersweet madness. Still, Will can't help that he's full of want, and that Hannibal is the only stable thing in this room. The only thing that isn't threatening to collapse under the weight of Will's delusions. Hannibal holds strong and steady against the violent storm of Will, and so Will is helpless to stop from throwing himself into Hannibal again and again.

Hannibal lets Will kiss him. He lets Will bite him. He is as still as marble, and Will just wants to see him crumble under the crash of the waves. Hannibal lets Will weep tears of anguish and he lets Will push him back onto the bed. But he doesn't melt under Will's touch. His expression remains impassive and smooth. 

Will feels suddenly feels ill, and pulls away from Hannibal. Rises from the bed and paces towards the balcony to look down at all of Italy. He hadn't noticed it get dark out, and he wonders if maybe he did lose time, after all.

There's a sick realization that he hasn't quite come to fully understand tugging at his mind, making his skin itchy and feverish. He lets out a raspy breath, trying to keep himself in one piece. To keep himself from spilling over.

"You.. You can't feel any real passion unless I turn into a monster like you." Will whispers, and he feels bile creep up the back of his throat.

Hannibal is silent, and Will stifles a sob.

"You want me to kill, don't you?" Will asks, looking at Hannibal with pain and longing and disgust. 

"I want you to realize your potential." Hannibal answers, always skirting around the question. Hannibal stands and crosses the room, placing a gentle hand on Will's waist. Will pulls away as though Hannibal's hand burns his skin.

"Don't you fucking touch me." Will spits, shooting Hannibal a hateful look before taking the other, still-made bed. 

"Believe it or not, I truly admire your humanity." Hannibal tells him.

And Will knows that he is, in Hannibal's mind, the humanity that Hannibal lost along the way somewhere. He might feel pity or something like it if he weren't suddenly so exhausted. He wonders what it was that turned Hannibal into what he is now. What monster ate Hannibal's heart?

"Stay out of my bed." Will warns, and Hannibal smiles sadly at him.

"As you wish." Hannibal answers. 

There's something unspoken hanging in the air that Will can't quite grasp. It feels like an 'I love you' that died on someone's tongue before they had the chance to say it, only it hurts more. 

Will fills the devastating silence with a hushed, "I think you're the devil." And Hannibal laughs in the darkness.

"If you give me the key to your soul, perhaps I will tell you of how it came to be that I fell from grace, my lovely Will. For now, sleep."

And Will does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always appreciated.


	7. Stella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has nightmares and sleep paralysis, and Hannibal fixes things a bit. A very pleasant surprise at the end of this chapter, because the comments you guys give make me really happy.

Will finds himself in an endless and desolate field. The grass is dead and golden, and heat waves rise from the parched earth, making everything all the more surreal.

From the corner of his eye, Will watches as Garrett Jacob Hobbs approaches, dried blood making his shirt a sticky burgundy. Will is fairly sure that Hobbs is smiling, but he doesn't turn to look.

Will's attention is fixated solely on Hannibal, who is over-dressed considering the suffocating heat. Hannibal carries an unconscious woman, and Will can tell that it's Alana Bloom, whose hands and feet are bound. In her mouth is an apple, in place of a gag.

Long pig, Hannibal had told him at the airport. In some cultures human meat is referred to as long pig.

Hannibal gently lays Dr. Bloom on the ground, and her eyes flutter open in horror. She tries to scream but all that comes out is a muffled and broken cry. Will stumbles forward, wanting to help her. 

"No!" He screams, but no one seems to hear him.

"This is the sacrifice." Hannibal says, his dark eyes glistening with malice. Will falls to his knees at Alana's side, and she shakes her head violently, her eyes pleading and full of fear. 

"Stop this!" Will begs. Hannibal ignores him. Instead, hands Will a knife. Engraved on the knife's silver handle is a stag. "Please don't make me, I can't."

"You must choose, Will." Hannibal says with a smile. Will swallows, and he can feel the presence of the stag behind him. A sudden calm washes over him. He knows what he must do. Steadily, he raises the blade above his head with both hands. Alana is writhing in protest, screaming behind the apple. 

The screams stop as Will plunges the knife into her stomach. Blood creeps out beneath her, filling in the lacy white wrinkles of her dress. It had to be done, she was the sacrificial lamb. In his peripheral vision, he watches as the stag transforms into himself. The only difference is that Stag Will looks well-rested; no bags beneath his blue eyes.

"See?" Hobbs whispers in his ear, and he nods.

"With no angel over your shoulder, you can be free." Hannibal tells him as Stag Will walks gracefully to Hannibal's side. Will watches himself kiss Hannibal's neck. Suddenly the sky darkens as angry storm clouds roll overhead. Rain begins to pour, making Alana's blood run through the dead grass. Water seems to rise around them. It's a flash flood.

The rain fills the field, and Will is struggling to breathe and stay afloat. Dark water fills his lungs as he starts to go under. Before he starts to drown, a strong hand pulls him to safety, and suddenly he is no longer in the field at all.

The sun is shining through the trees, and he finds himself sitting on a blanket in a meadow. Across from him is Hannibal.

It's a picnic. 

Hannibal pulls a vintage bottle of red wine from the wicker basket, setting it down in the middle between two wine glasses. He then places grapes and pomegranates and figs onto the blanket. Will realizes that he's starving, and that it's a hunger that fruit and wine won't satisfy. 

"Would you like to say grace?" Hannibal asks, and Will shakes his head, frowning.

"What about the main course?" Will asks, and Hannibal smiles serenely. 

"But of course." Hannibal says as he pulls a still-beating heart from the basket and sets it between them. Will watches, hypnotized by it's pulsating rhythm. 

He only stares at it for a moment before he takes it, bites into it ravenously, enjoy the way the blood runs down his chin. Hannibal watches him, and Will suddenly becomes self conscious. Suspicious.

He looks down, and sees that his chest has been ripped open. The heart which he is devours is his own. It's a cruel joke. Everything Hannibal does is a cruel joke.

"But I.." He starts to speak but when he does, his own blood spills from his mouth.

"My dear Will, I've been feeding you your own heart all along. You are the main course." Will wants to stop eating, but he can't. He takes another bite, and as he does, he feels a sharp ache in his chest. The more he eats, the more he hurts. 

"Please, I want to stop." Will whimpers, still chewing. His chest is a gaping hole of agony, now. Hannibal simply laughs and points to Will's wrists. There are strings there, controlling Will's every movement. He realizes in absolute horror that he is nothing but a puppet.

Hannibal has always been the one pulling the strings. 

"Are you quite satiated?" Hannibal asks, pulling the strings that control Will's arms to wrap them around his throat, like a noose of barbed wire. "Or would you like some more?"

\--

Will wakes when he finds himself unable to scream. He's tangled in the mess of his sheets and drenched in his own sweat, and he can't convince his limbs to move.

Sleep paralysis. It's something he's struggled with since he was young.

He tries to speak, tries to cry out, and can't. It feels like there's a weight pressing down on his chest, holding him down. He struggles to breathe, absolutely terrified when he realizes that he can't do anything. It sounds like there are children laughing all around him, closing in on him, and he doesn't feel like he's really in his body at all. Feels like he's watching himself from the ceiling. 

With no small amount of determination, Will forces his body to move, gasps for air.

"Hannibal!" He cries into the darkened room, but Hannibal doesn't reply. "Hannibal?"

Will jumps from his bed and crawls along the floor to Hannibal's, scraping his knees on the carpet in the process. Hannibal is awake, looking at him expressionlessly.

"What is it, Will?" 

"You've always held the strings." Will whispers, shivering despite the fact that he's still sweating profusely. "You.. You forced me to eat my own heart. I.. I.." Hannibal raises a hand to silence him.

"Shh, come to bed. It was only a dream." 

Will pulls himself up and into Hannibal's open arms, hiccuping in distress all the while. 

"Please cut the strings, Hannibal. Please. You're the only one who can."

"Hush now, dear one. Everything's alright now. I won't let anyone harm you."

"You're the devil on my shoulder." Will whispers, and he hears Hannibal sigh as he pulls him closer. 

"Go back to sleep, Will." 

"Don't let me go." Will pleads, gripping Hannibal's arm in weak desperation.

"I thought you didn't want me to touch you?" Hannibal purrs, but keeps his arms around Will just the same.

Will says nothing in response, simply waits until his heartbeat slows. His eyelids feel heavy, and once he's sure that Hannibal won't stop holding him together, he lets himself drift back to sleep.

\----

The sun is shining brightly between the curtains as Will wakes to find that Hannibal is no longer in bed with him. Will hears voices at the door, and the unmistakable clanking of porcelain dishes. The smell of food and coffee fill Will's senses, and he sits up in the bed, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Hannibal walks in from the doorway, holding a silver tray. Hannibal smiles at him, setting the tray down onto the bedside table. 

"Oh good, you're awake. I ordered room service, are you hungry?" Will nods, glancing down at the food anxiously. Last time Hannibal fed him, it was a trap. 

"Room service? No long pig today?" Will asks with a grimace. 

"You said you would not eat what I might be inclined to cook for you. Consider it courteousness." Hannibal says blankly as he pours Will a glass of orange juice and hands it to him. Will takes it. The cold glass feels nice in his hand, though it nearly slips from his sweaty palm. He stares at it. Sniffs it in an attempt to check whether or not there's poison in it. The action doesn't go unnoticed, though Hannibal seems amused. "I didn't drug anything here." Hannibal explains, handing Will a plate. There's an omelette and sausage, which is still steaming. It smells so alluring that it's difficult for Will to resist, but he refuses to take a bite before Hannibal does.

_Trick me once, shame on you. Trick me twice, shame on me._

_  
_Hannibal takes a bite of his own omelette, and looks to Will. The point is obvious. See, it's safe. Now you eat.

And Will does, realizing that no one has ever given him breakfast in bed before. 

"So, now what?" Will asks before downing his orange juice. 

"What ever do you mean, Will?" Hannibal asks, cutting through the meat on his plate.

"What are we going to do now that we're in Europe?" Will asks. He pushes the egg around on his plate as he speaks. "I should find a job or something. I can't very well go back to being an FBI agent."

"I always found it interesting that you chose to put your skills to use at the FBI." Hannibal says thoughtfully. "It would have been much safer to use your empathy and lack of social graces to become a writer. I wonder if you wanted to put yourself in danger?"

"Don't psychoanalyze me." Will huffs, shoving more food into his mouth. Hannibal smiles. 

"That's why I brought you with me, you know. You're much too fragile to continue putting yourself into such unpleasant situations. You were beginning to break, and Jack Crawford didn't seems to mind. Europe will help breathe life back into you, I should think."

"I'm not fragile." Will argues, frowning deeply.

"Tell me Will, do your knees still sting from when you dragged them across the carpet to sleep in my bed?" 

Will doesn't say anything, but the answer is yes. He sighs and finishes his meal, pushes it aside and stretches his legs. 

"I have a very pleasant surprise for you." Hannibal says softly, and Will glances up. "Though it will require me to trust you to not do anything foolish. If I step out for a while, will you behave?" 

Will eyes him suspiciously, and wonders if Hannibal would really leave him alone with a phone in a room he can easily escape from.

"What do you mean?" Will asks hesitantly.

"I would only be gone for fifteen minutes or so. If, in the mean time, you do not try to contact the authorities or leave this room, you will be very handsomely rewarded." Will licks his lips, mulling it over. 

Hannibal wouldn't do anything without complete certainty that things would go as planned. Will wonders what Hannibal would do to him if he disobeyed. 

"I won't do anything stupid." He answers, looking into the bottom of his glass.

"Would you care for more orange juice?" Hannibal asks. Will shakes his head. The sooner that Hannibal leaves and comes back, the sooner Will can prove that he's a good boy. "Alright. I will return shortly." Hannibal rises to his feet and kisses Will on the forehead. Will holds his breath and shuts his eyes, and after a moment, he hears the door open and close. 

Would Hannibal really leave him alone? Maybe he did poison the food. Or maybe he's outside waiting. Sharpening a knife so he can catch Will by surprise and kill him. 

Will bites his lip nervously and stares at the door, wanting to make a run for it. He glances at the phone, and realizes that he is in Italy. If he tries to call anyone or ask anyone for help on the street, chances are they won't understand. He doesn't remember Jack Crawford's number. He doesn't remember any number at all, for that matter. 

He buries his head into the pillow and yells into the fabric. Even if he ran away, he wouldn't get very far. He has no idea what city he's in. He feels himself starting to panic as he continues to scream into his pillow. 

After a moment he shakily pulls himself out of the bed and walks to the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Why did Hannibal choose him? He isn't special. Not really. Just a simple man with simple taste and a haunted mind. He knows more about boat motors than wine or classical composers. Why would Hannibal set his predatory sights on Will, of all people? He let's out a sigh and presses his forehead against the glass. 

The door opens, and Will slowly walks out of the bathroom.

He is greeted by a German shepherd puppy, who jumps up and licks excitedly at his hand

Will is speechless.

"German shepherds are the closest in relation to wolves." Hannibal tells him. Will kneels down and grins, his eyes filling with tears. 

"I'd think I was dreaming if my dreams were ever anything but nightmares." Will grins, petting the dog's belly. 

"What will you call her?" Hannibal asks, seeming ever so slightly pleased with himself. 

"Stella." Will replies, kissing her nose. Hannibal nods.

"Stella." He repeats. "Lovely name." 

And for that moment, everything Hannibal has ever done is forgiven, and all his transgressions are forgotten.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts:  
> I suffer from sleep paralysis myself, and Stella is based off of my belated dog Kitty, whom I loved more than any human being.  
> If someone made fanart for my story, I would probably cry. Just sayin'.  
> I was listening to Bedroom Hymns by Florence + The Machine, whilst I wrote this chapter.


	8. Wendigo Psychosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is where the story starts to get dark. I should warn you all now that this will not be a happy story, and it's only going to get darker from here.
> 
> Killer!Will, graphic violence, and smut. Potential trigger warnings.
> 
> There will be blood, but there will also be Will in a collar, so....

Will spends several days in that hotel alone room with Stella, training her and coddling her. Time drips by at a comfortable pace, and Will knows that the end of the month looms like a shadow overhead, bringing with it a small sense of impending doom. Hannibal had said he would only keep Will until then, so surely he has a plan for how to hold Will to himself after the allotted time is up. Will tries not to think about it, and tries not to think about exactly why Hannibal bought him a dog in the first place.

Hannibal leaves for extended periods of time with no explanation as to where he goes, and Will does not ask, because Will does not care. Every so often, Will considers making a run for it. Finding help. He always thinks better of it, fear and Stella keeping him in his place. Perhaps he will formulate a solid plan before his time is up. Before Hannibal finds a way to outsmart him and trap him. But for the time being, Will is alright where he is, training his dog and spending his evenings with Hannibal. Italy is warm and inviting, awash in golds and greens, and everything is so lovely that it's easy to nearly forget what Hannibal really is.

Hannibal spoils the puppy, in his own lavish way, bringing home various chew toys and expensive dog food. A pink collar and leash that seem to be embroidered with genuine Swarkovski crystal to spell out the words “Stella Matutina.” 

Will questions this, to which Hannibal simply replies that this is Latin for Morning Star, which Will finds fitting.

For a long time Will is genuinely happy. He doesn’t lose time or hallucinate nearly as often, and Stella is always there to kiss his face when he wakes, disoriented and mortified from some new night terror. 

He now lazily strokes her fur on the terrace, looking out at the hazy city awash in the moonlight. His shirt is damp with sweat, and it makes him shiver against the chill of the breeze, though he doesn't mind.

Hannibal has been gone since earlier in the evening, and Will is loathe to admit that he actually misses his captor. Wonders where Hannibal must disappear to. Perhaps Hannibal has some sort of job earned under his fake name. He must be supporting them somehow. But Will knows that Dr. Lecter isn't an ordinary man who would find a simple job. Hannibal enjoys certain extracurricular activities. Will finds it easier to pretend that Hannibal isn't out there under the same moon, strangling the life out of his next meal. Things have become so domestic that Will has to remind himself of Hannibal's true nature.

It makes you wonder, thinks Will, exactly how many killers do we brush shoulders with on the train during our morning commute? How many monsters are wearing the masks of ordinary people. How many of them make our coffee, butcher our meat? After all, Dr. Lecter is an excellent psychiatrist. Before that, he was an excellent surgeon. Saving lives while stealing the pleasure in the thought of expertly taking them. Does it balance out? The good and the bad? This is an esoteric question for another day.

He hears the door quietly open and close from behind him, and Stella growls softly. Hannibal says nothing, and doesn't turn on the light. There's a strange sound, like something being dragged along the floor. The hairs on the back of Will's neck bristle, and he can sense that something is off. He turns, squints into the darkness, and then he's reeling. Hannibal stands, painted white and looking like a handsome demon in the moon's glow. He drags the body of a man across the floor, and glances up expressionlessly at Will, who has to swallow the bile that creeps into his throat.

"What are you doing?" Will whispers, shaking his head to will this nightmare away. But he knows he is not dreaming. 

"Come here." Hannibal commands, his voice even and smooth. 

"Are you  _insane_?" Hisses Will, staying where he is. Possibly out of stubbornness, but more likely he is still with terror. Hannibal gives him a look in warning, and Will staggers gracelessly forward, too dizzy to walk without stumbling. 

"Consider this an exercise in trust." Hannibal says. Will can see now that the man on the floor is breathing, though the breaths are shallow and staggered. "A group project, if you will."

"Who is trusting whom, Doctor?" Will breathes, trying to steady himself as he sways, dizzy and unsure on his feet. "What makes you think..." 

Will trails off, feeling his hands begin to shake. Hannibal wants him to kill this man. Expects it. 

"Tell me, Will. How would you take this man's life?" 

"No." Will whimpers, and he realizes he is backing himself into the corner, covering his ears with his hands. "No, no, no."

"Answer the question." Hannibal says. The man on the ground groans in his unconscious state, and Hannibal prods him in the ribs with his foot. 

"I wouldn't!" Will cries, stumbling to the ground and shivering in a crumpled pile in the corner. "Don't do this, Hannibal. I can't, don't make me do this." Hannibal sighs, stepping deliberately over the man and kneeling before Will, meeting him at eye level.

"I haven't told you to do anything, dear Will. Only tell me what you would do, were you to take his life in your hands." 

"Let him live." Will whispers, forcing himself to hold Hannibal's maroon eyes purposefully.

"No, we can't do that." Will covers his face with his hands, sobbing hysterically. "Don't make me force the answer from you, Will."

"I'd stab him." Will hisses, trying to back himself further into the corner. 

"Be more specific, Will. Give me the intimate details." Hannibal says softly. "Describe to me your design."

"Oh god, just make it quick." Will wails, sobbing into his hands. "Painless." Hannibal watches him a moment.

"I don't believe you. I think you would enjoy his suffering if you allowed yourself to do so." Hannibal smiles. "It's an acquired taste which I believe you would grow to desire."

"I'm not a sadist, Dr. Lecter. I'm not you." 

"No, but you are more like me than you would like to admit, aren't you?"

Will doesn't reply, instead he begins to hyperventilate, trembling violently. He weeps for the poor man on the hotel room floor, whose cruel fate was decided for him.

"We are all meant to die, Will." Hannibal says, voice feigning a touch of sympathy. "This man is a belligerent alcoholic who cheats on his wife and hits his children. Should we allow him to carry on, making the world an uglier place? Or shall we re-purpose him? Make him useful by creating art and food of him?"

"He has a family?" Will whimpers, sounding to himself like a frightened child.

"Where would you stab him, Will?" Hannibal ignores Will's question, pulling a knife from his bag and offering it. Will refuses. "Tell me."

"I-I would take him to the bathtub and slice open a major artery while he was still unconscious. Drain his blood with as little pain as possible. No.. No mess, that way." Will rushes the words out, and hates himself for saying them. Hannibal wouldn't let him out of this, wouldn't let the man live. Better to grant the poor guy some mercy.

"I know you can be more creative than that, Will." Hannibal chides. "You wouldn't drown him in the liquor which he values over his family? Wouldn't feel inclined to lick his blood from your fingers as you watch him die slowly?"

"Don't do this." Will whispers. "Please."

"Perhaps this man's crimes do not offend you enough to provoke you to kill him with pleasure." Hannibal speculates thoughtfully. "How would you kill a man like me?"

"I'm not playing this game." Will grits out, wanting to disappear. To simply cease to exist.

"No more bedroom talk, then? What about the things which you described to me on the plane? You said you would rip my throat out with your teeth and turn my bones to dust with your hands."

Will says nothing, simply weeps, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars behind his eyelids. Hannibal is silent for a moment, and then Will hears him sigh and move away. Hears Hannibal drag the unconscious man into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind himself. Will still doesn't open his eyes, simply listens to the heavy silence. Stella nudges her wet nose against his forehead, and he lets out a miserable sigh, burying his face into her fur. He stays there for a long time, cloaking himself in the stillness and trying to erase himself from he moment. He feels the tug of exhaustion nagging at his mind, and weakly pulls himself off of the floor and into Hannibal's bed. He is relieved to find that he can't see Hannibal's shadow beneath the bathroom door, so he pretends that Hannibal isn't there. Isn't killing someone in the next room.

Stella curls up beside the bed and yawns before laying her head down, her big brown eyes staring up at Will. He falls asleep watching the steady rise and fall of her breath.

 

****

When Will awakes, Hannibal is in bed beside him reading a book. Neither of them says anything, and Will stares towards the bathroom, afraid of what horrors it holds. After a while, he pulls himself out of bed and slowly approaches the door, pushing it open.

There is no sign of what hideous acts transpired here. It is immaculately clean. Hannibal must have disposed of the body while Will slept.

When Will exits the bathroom, Hannibal is making coffee. Will sits at the table, glaring out the window. His mind is empty for once, but it brings no relief. He is the first to break the silence.

"Do you like to play God, Dr. Lecter?" He spits the words, sprinkling them with acid. Hannibal glances up as he pours the coffee into two mugs. 

"Don't we all?" He replies flatly, and Will glares out the window again.

Hannibal watches him for a moment longer before setting the table, putting Will's mug in front of him quietly before turning his back to him. Hannibal pulls sausage from a cooler, and Will stiffens.

"Is that.. Is that him?" 

"It is. I think it only appropriate that you taste the meal you helped me to prepare."

"I did no such thing." Will growls, jumping from the table. "Don't you fucking dare put that on me."

"Sit." Hannibal commands. Will does as he's told, thrumming his fingers anxiously on the table and staring at the floor. "I had hoped that you might have been of more assistance to me last night, so that you could enjoy the fruits of your labor. However, I understand that was a lot to ask of you. I will not make you eat this, as it is not truly the reward of your actions. But you will not disrupt breakfast, and I will not have you throwing a tantrum."

"Sorry." Will grumbles. The meat smells wonderful, and Will is hungry, but he can't stand the thought of letting that poison touch his lips. Stella sits patiently by Hannibal's feet, her tail wagging. He smiles down at her and throws her some meat, and Will rests his head on the table with a sigh. "Did you kill my dogs?" 

Hannibal turns around, frowning.

"No. I told you, I put them in good homes."

"I figured you were probably lying to make me feel better." Will says, voice muffled by the table. 

"What you fail to understand is that I am attempting to be thoroughly honest with you, Will. I am trying to be as much myself around you as I can afford- extending trust and respect. I did not lie to you, I gave your pets to a select and stable few of my former patients." 

Will lets out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and listening to the sausage simmer on the small stove. 

"You... You act like this is a real relationship, which is ridiculous. I'm just another one of your murder victims, you know. You just feed on me slowly. You.. You suck me dry like a vampire. I'm no more important to you than the poor guy you're cooking right now. The only difference is that you're taking your sweet time and killing me slowly. You're eating me alive." Will rambles, and Hannibal listens, shaking his head.

"On the contrary, my good Will. It has always been my intention to become the primary source of sustenance for you. I want to fill your thoughts, empty the marrow from your bones so that I can fill in all of the empty space. Rewrite myself into your DNA and become as much a part of you as your fingerprint. If I have taken anything from you, it is only because I want to take its place. You may consume me as you please, only don't deny me the forbidden fruit of you and your beautiful mind."

He turns back to focus on cooking, and Will lifts his head to stare into his coffee, which is getting cold. He drinks it slowly, watches Hannibal at work. It's a sight to see, and Will has to admit that it's like watching someone create art. Even in the small hotel kitchenette, Hannibal cooks as though he were performing on stage. The flames of the stove dance for Hannibal and illuminate his face in a haunting yet mesmerizing way. Will finds himself perplexed; enraptured in the way Hannibal commands the fire. He is caught off guard when Hannibal stops what he is doing and turns again, his expression complicatedly dark and unreadable.

"Do you love me, Will?" He asks, and there's a strange edge to his voice that almost sounds like sadness. 

"Does it matter?" Will replies, swallowing the rest of his coffee. Hannibal's expression seems to soften before he finishes his masterpiece and turns off the stove. He decorates the plates with the food, and Will gives into his own hunger and eats it, ignoring that he knows what it's made of. Of course, it's delicious, and Hannibal's eyes flicker like hell fire as he watches Will enjoy it.

"Come to the opera with me." 

"Really?" 

"Yes." 

Will glances across the table and watches Hannibal chew his food. This man is at the top of the food chain, Will thinks. This man is the world's most dangerous predator, and he wants to take Will to an opera.

"Do I have a choice?" Will asks dejectedly.

"I suppose it is an act of courtesy to let you think so." Hannibal replies. Will watches the steam rise from the food. Anything to avoid looking at Hannibal's subtly smug expression.

"Fine, whatever." Will shrugs. "When in Rome."

"We aren't in Rome."

"I know."

"We'll have to find you the appropriate attire. I believe an Armani suit would flatter you."

Will doesn't answer. He pushes the plate of half-finished food away, suddenly nauseated by the smell. Hannibal watches him, smiling curiously.

"Do you hate me, Will?" 

"I told you that I do." Will snaps, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. 

"And do you love me?" Hannibal asks again, and Will glares at him.

"You tell me, Dr. Lecter." Will growls venomously. "What is your professional opinion?"

"I want to hear you say it."

"I won't." Will rises from the table, and Hannibal doesn't stop him. Will paces the floor, running a hand through his hair in aggravation. "I won't." He repeats to himself. He walks to the terrace and glares at the city, wanting to watch it burn to the ground. He hears Hannibal clearing the table and washing the dishes, and after a while, Hannibal leaves without a word. When Will hears the door close, he crumbles, falling to his knees and crying like a child.

****

Hannibal returns a few hours later, just as Will is getting out of the shower. He scrubbed his knuckles raw, trying to clean himself of the night before. Still he feels dirty. When he steps out of the humid steam of the bathroom, Hannibal is taking a very expensive-looking three piece suit out of it's elegant box and draping it on the bed. Will watches as he vigorously dries his hair with a towel, and Hannibal turns to smile at him.

"I decided to go with Armani, though I was tempted by Boglioli. I had it tailored to your measurements." 

The suit is very elegant in grey, not that Will would be able to tell the difference between high fashion and something found in a thrift store. Hannibal smooths out a deep-purple tie, and Will shrugs with disinterest. He wonders when Hannibal would have gotten his measurements, though it doesn't surprise him. 

"I also took the liberty of purchasing a better aftershave." Hannibal says, and Will cocks an eyebrow. 

"Do I really smell that bad?"

"No, but cheap cologne does you no favors. You are better than that, dear Will. I bought you something better than that." Will simply snorts in reply, crossing his arms over his chest. "It is my wish to see you as the best version of yourself."

"Ah, well then I suppose I ought to be grateful." Will sneers, and Hannibal's eyes darken.

"Indeed, you should be grateful." Hannibal says, taking a threatening step forward. "Do not mock me, Will. I will only forgive the vulgarity of your impoliteness to a certain degree, and it would be very unwise to offend me when I bring gifts for you."

"Thanks." Will says, trying to mask his fear with a smirk. It's hard to imagine Hannibal angry. Truly angry. Will can't really fathom Hannibal killing him, but why wouldn't he? Why shouldn't he? 

Will hallucinates Hannibal's hands around his throat for a brief moment, and his own hands fly up to his neck to defend himself. Hannibal watches the action, eyes narrowing in curiosity.

"Try it on." He commands, and Will does. 

He has to admit, he looks damn good, everything fits like a glass slipper, which really was to be expected. Hannibal is nothing if not a man of taste, after all.

Still, Will doesn't feel like he belongs in these elegant clothes. They surely cost more than Will feels that he is worth. They may be well-tailored to fit him, but he is not tailored to wear Armani. When he looks at his reflection in the mirror, he doesn't feel like he's looking at himself. He feels like he is looking at Hannibal, which is probably the point. He shies away from the reflection and waits for Hannibal to pull up the car.

****

Will feels antsy in his seat as the lights flicker, indicating for the audience to quiet down. The performance is about to start. He's never been to an opera before, and he feels out of place. Like everyone can see that he doesn't belong here. Not in high society, not at an opera, not in Italy. He begins to feel paranoid and uncomfortable, sweating so much that his expensive shirt clings to his skin. Hannibal notices him squirming in his chair and rests a soothing hand over Will's own, and Will stills. The lights dim, and the opera begins.

Honestly, it's not really Will's taste. The music is lovely, but the story line is hard to follow. it doesn't help that it's in Italian. What catches Will's attention is Hannibal, who leans impossibly far forward until he is on the very edge of his seat, and becomes so utterly absorbed in the performance that he doesn't notice Will watching him. Will glances over and catches Hannibal closing his eyes and sighing when the singing is particularly lovely. It's the most emotion Will has seen Hannibal portray, and he can't help but sort of feel it, too. He supposes that is the empathy, pulling him even more into Hannibal than he ever asked to be.

At the end of the opera, Will isn't even looking at the stage. His attention is caught on the fact that Hannibal is crying. Will has never been more amazed by anything in his life, and he watches a tear fall down Hannibal's cheek and splash onto his chest, absolutely enthralled.

When the music stops and the audience applauds, Hannibal rises to his feet for a standing ovation, and Will just sits, looking up in awe. How can this be the same man who tried to get Will to murder someone with him last night? Hannibal glances down at him and smiles, eyes still brimmed with tears. Will smiles too, though the smile feels awkward and unfamiliar on his face.

They walk together towards the theatre's reception area, and Hannibal pulls Will aside.

"What did you think?" He asks, his voice lined with a hint of hope. And how could Will resist pleasing Hannibal now?

"I've never seen anything like it." Will answers, referring more to Hannibal's tears than the performance.

"Exquisite, no?" Hannibal seems to be bubbling with excitement, at least as much as someone like Hannibal can. And Will almost feels like he could love this man again, if I he really tried. "If you were to kill someone here, tonight, who would you choose?" Almost.

Will flinches, grimacing. 

"Don't do this. Not tonight." He hisses. Hannibal eyes him incredulously.

"Pick a victim, Will." 

Will rubs at his eyes, groaning in agitation. It's very unlikely that Hannibal would just drop the subject. Will has no choice but to humor him. He scans the room with weary eyes, and points to a woman who stands out to him.

"Her, I guess." He mutters, trying to ignore the stab of self-disgust that makes him clench his jaw. 

"Why?" Hannibal asks, looking over. She's a pretty brunette with a warm skin tone, and her black dress makes her look like something preternatural. She seems almost too elegant, even against the backdrop of her surroundings.

"She just stands out to me." Will shrugs, wanting to run and hide. "I'm not as offended by certain personalities like you are." 

"I suppose not. What would your ideal situation be, if you were to kill someone? Would you kill me if you didn't have to feel the ramification of your own guilt?"

"I really don't want to play this game with you." Will whispers, closing his eyes. When he opens them, he realizes that Hannibal has left his side, and is now talking to the brunette in the black dress. Will clutches the wall, covering his mouth with a trembling hand. Hannibal is beckoning him to join the conversation. To help pick out their next victim. 

As if pulled by an invisible force, Will feels himself walk forward to Hannibal's side, avoiding looking at the woman at any and all costs.

"Lucia,"  Hannibal says with a charming smile. "This is my friend Will Graham, who I was just telling you about. It is his first night at an opera."

"Ahh a virgin." Her voice reminds Will of caramel and he gets lost in the rolling waves of her thick accent. Still he refuses to look up, his eyes on the door, debating to make a run for it. "How did you like your first performance?"

"It was fine." Will says, Hannibal's hand at the small of his back. It feels like it might be the only thing keeping him on his feet. "Very good, actually." 

"Will and I would love to have you for dinner. Are you available tonight?" Says Hannibal, and Will feels his throat constrict.

"Well, I was planning to meet with some friends of mine, but I suppose they can wait." Lucia says in her wonderful accent, and Will could cry. He wants to tell her to get away. To run as fast as her long legs will carry her. He wants to give her the choice he never had, but he can't find the words.

Hannibal pulls a notepad and pen from his breast pocket and writes something down, smiling flirtatiously at Lucia and handing her the piece of paper.

"That is our hotel, room, and phone number. If you should prefer to meet your friends first, we can be available for dinner around nine." 

"Nine is perfect." Lucia beams. She walks away, and Will listens sadly to the sound of her heels clicking on the linoleum.

"We can't." He says, eyes travelling up to Hannibal's face. "We can't kill that girl." 

"No?" Hannibal asks, guiding Will through the door and towards the car. "Change of heart?"

"You know damn well that this was never something I wanted. There was no change of heart, I never wanted to kill anyone."

"You enjoyed killing Garrett Jacob Hobbs, did you not?" 

"That was different." Will breathes, opening his car door and getting in. Hannibal just looks at him, smiling slightly.

"I see no difference." Hannibal says as he starts the car. 

"Why couldn't we have just gone to the opera and left it at that. Why ruin the experience?" Will demands. "I was actually having a good time and i felt.." 

His voice trails off and he looks out the window, sighing. Hannibal looks at him a moment before putting a hand on his shoulder.

"What did you feel, Will?"

"Connected to you." 

The drive to the hotel is filled with a heavy silence, though Will isn't quite sure what it means.

****

Lucia is ten minutes late, and Will desperately hopes that she decided to blow them off. Hopes that he will never see her again.

He watches Hannibal prepare their meal, guessing that the tongue which Hannibal cooks is likely that of the man from the night before. It's also possible that Hannibal has killed several more people and the food could be anyone. Will wonders where Hannibal must take his victims, if he has another property somewhere. Maybe he keeps another person hostage like he keeps Will. Maybe that person is more willing to kill when Hannibal wants them to. What if Hannibal starts to like that person better, and gets bored with Will?

Will's train of thought is derailed when there is a knock at the door. It's Lucia, of course. She says something to Hannibal in Italian, kissing his cheeks and smiling brilliantly at Stella.

"Aw, I didn't take you for the type to keep a dog." She says, kneeling to greet the animal.

"She's more Will's pet than mine." Hannibal explains, and Lucia smiles at Will. He doesn't smile back.

 

The dinner conversation is carried primarily by Hannibal and Lucia, and it's mostly small talk. Things like, "What brings you to Italy?" and "When did you first fall in love with opera?" Will stabs anxiously at his food, wondering when and if Hannibal intends to kill Lucia. She seems like such a charming woman, and Will feels horrible for ever noticing her in the crowd. He wishes he'd have pointed out someone who deserved to die, at least. 

After a while, Lucia's words begin to slur slightly, and she becomes uncharacteristically sluggish though she's only had half a glass of wine. Will doesn't notice. Not until she turns to Hannibal and frowns.

"Did you drug me?" She asks, sounding angry and tired. Will looks between them, mortified. Hannibal simply smiles and shakes his head.

"Of course not." He answers as her eyes roll back into her head and she falls unconscious. Will jumps from his seat and immediately begins to pace the room, frantically shaking his head.

"No." Is all he says. "No, no."

Hannibal ignores him and moves to examine Lucia, seeming to make certain that she is passed out. He glances up to Will, smile never faltering.

"Walk me through it." He instructs, and Will shakes his head, wrapping his arms protectively around himself. "Would you prefer her conscious and alert?"

"No!" Will cries out. "No, I don't want to do this at all. I don't want to help you."

"Finish her yourself, then." Hannibal suggests, and Will feels himself nearly retch. "Come here."

Will hesitantly comes when he is called for, and Hannibal rewards him by kissing his forehead. Will unintentionally leans into the touch. 

"I can't do this, Hannibal." Will whispers, and Hannibal smiles graciously, stroking Will's hair.

"Don't you trust me, Will?" He asks, and Will bites his lip to keep it from trembling. When Will doesn't answer, Hannibal continues to speak. "Look at her." He commands, and Will does. "What do you see when you look at her?"

"She's.. She's very pretty." Will whispers timidly. Hannibal nods.

"What strikes you most when you look at her?"

"She looks like she's sleeping. Her lipstick is... It looks like blood."

"Good, Will. What does she smell like to you?" 

Will bends down slightly and smells Lucia's hair.

"Perfume. Roses." 

"Yes, she is wearing L'arte de Gucci, a discontinued perfume, I believe." Hannibal says, grabbing a ceramic kitchen knife and handing it to Will. "Now make a small incision." 

"Where?" 

"Above her clavicle." 

Will does, and watches with fearful interest as blood beads along the cut. 

"Very good, Will. Now taste her blood and describe it to me." Hannibal instructs. Will grimaces, but traces his finger along the incision and puts the finger to his lips, looking to Hannibal for encouragement. 

"It tastes like blood, I don't know. Coppery." 

"Yes, good." Hannibal says, and Will tries to ignore the glowing sense of pride he gets when Hannibal praises him. "Now put your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat. Tell me how it sounds. What do you hear?"

Will listens, and glances up to Hannibal.

"Her heart beat is kind of slow. Like a waltz." Will says darkly. "Like a funeral march."

"Now, I want you take the knife and do with it as you please, Will. Take her life into your own hands, and feel her. Tell me how it feels." Hannibal instructs.

Will hesitates, but something in his mind clicks into place. He hears his own heart beating like a metronome, and he sees everything clearly.

He doesn't think while he does it, really. He just becomes pure experience. All he is and all he knows is the sensation of it. The warm blood that pools on the floor and the delicate way that she slumps forward, spilling her glass of wine. He isn't careful or graceful, but he is artful and Hannibal looks proud. He describes it to Hannibal, though his own voice sounds very far away and unfamiliar. When he's finished, his shirt is sticky with drying blood and he feels distant and over stimulated. Hannibal looks at him for only a moment before pulling him into a violent kiss, and Will knows that this is his reward. 

His hands grasp for Hannibal blindly and wildly, and Hannibal pulls him impossibly closer by the collar of his shirt, dominating his mouth. When Will closes his eyes, all he sees is red. Deep, wrathful red, spilling into the forts of his mind.

Hannibal guides him to the nearest bed and pushes him down, and he pants and sweats on the mattress as Hannibal unbuttons his shirt and bites savagely at his shoulder. Will lets out a strangled moan, which only seems to provoke Hannibal to bite harder, drawing blood before kissing Will on the mouth again. Will tastes his own blood, licks it from Hannibal's lips. 

This is the first time that they've been intimate since Will found out about Hannibal's murderous tendencies, and Will has to admit that he's missed this. 

Hannibal pulls himself off of Will and Will grabs desperately at the air, whimpering in want. 

"Shh." Hannibal instructs, grabbing something from beside the bed. It's Stella's collar, which Hannibal clasps around Will's throat. Will shivers as Hannibal wraps the length of the leash around his knuckles, using it to pull Will roughly into another kiss, biting his lip. Hannibal has always been fond of using his teeth to his advantage, and Will all but purrs in response.

Using the leash, Hannibal guides Will where he wants him, making Will kiss his throat and chest. Will obliges him enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically. Will bites too viciously at Hannibal's collar bone, and Hannibal reprimands him by tying the leash to one of the bed posts. Will knows better than to struggle, but still he squirms a bit. Hannibal undresses him completely, folding his pants on the edge of the bed before lining Will's jaw with kisses. Will shivers with a whine when Hannibal breathes into his ear and momentarily sniffs his hair. Then Hannibal is licking a line down Will's neck, sucking bruises on the way down and successfully marking what is his. When Will tries to reach up and run his hands through Hannibal's hair, Hannibal pins his wrists above his head with a grunt. Will knows he's not allowed to have any power, but he wants some leverage.  Some control. Will was never one to surrender easily. When Hannibal's grip around Will's wrists loosens slightly, Will takes the opportunity to grab Hannibal by his hair and pull him down. Will tugs at Hannibal's lip and delights in the way that Hannibal moans. Hannibal doesn't punish him, instead smiles and whispers, "That's my boy." 

Then Hannibal is back to kissing his way down the entirety of Will, licking at his clavicle, then lower. Hannibal kisses his way down Will's chest, taking extra time to afford attention to the place where Will's heart is. Will tries to lean forward but the collar stops him, so he lays back and closes his eyes. Still, blood-red floods his vision and paints everything behind his eyelids in rosey scarlet. 

Hannibal licks down the rungs of Will's rib cage and then sinks down to graze his teeth sharply along Will's hips. Then Hannibal's lips are just above Will's thighs and Will sucks in a breath. 

"Tease." He accuses, and Hannibal laughs, running his hands along Will's legs before spreading them apart. Will is already so hard it hurts, but Hannibal ignores this and begins licking his way along the insides of Will's thighs. Will digs his fingers into the bed sheet, moaning. Hannibal responds to this by biting roughly at Will's inner-most thigh, and Will's eyes snap open as he jerks forward, forgetting the collar. It chokes him and he settles back down, gasping for air. "Please." He rasps, but Hannibal ignores him and continues to bite the insides of Will's thighs, hard enough to bruise. Will writhes on the bed, trying to stop himself from moaning, deciding that it's the only control he really has and it's something that Hannibal wants. Still, Will can't keep himself entirely quiet and he cannot for the life of him keep still. Hannibal smiles up at him, and Will is satisfied to see that Hannibal's pupils are lustfully blown and his face is flushed.

Any small sign that Hannibal isn't entirely composed is welcomed by Will.

Hannibal bends down to lick along Will's perineum, and all the self-control that Will has been struggling to hold onto is lost as he barks out a desperate cry. Then Hannibal is straddling his hips, and Will is eagerly trying to remedy the fact that Hannibal is still fully dressed. His fingers struggle clumsily to unbutton Hannibal's shirt and he's straining against the oppression of the collar, wanting to be closer to Hannibal even if it means cutting off his own air supply. Hannibal smiles serenely at him and takes Will's hands into his own, gently forcing Will to be still again. Then Hannibal is examining Will's hands, tracing along the spaces between Will's fingers with his own. Will watches Hannibal curiously, and notes that Hannibal looks equally enthralled in studying Will's hands as he was when they were at the opera. Hannibal softly kisses each of Will's fingertips before taking each one into his mouth to suck on it. Will groans softly as he feels Hannibal's tongue wrap around each of his fingers, and there's something so intimate about this. It's as though Hannibal is worshiping him, and it's enough to make Will's hips jerk upwards, dissatisfied at the lack of friction.

"You are absolutely stunning." Hannibal says, his voice thick with lust. He closes his eyes as he holds one of Will's hands to his lips and feathers it with affectionate kisses, looking completely enthralled in the small act alone. And Will is enchanted just watching as Hannibal adores and worships him. Then Hannibal places Will's hand to his chest and holds it over his heart, an Will can just barely feel Hannibal's heart pounding through his shirt. It makes Will all the more eager to undress Hannibal, and he pulls his hand away to work at finishing what he started, unfastening the rest of the buttons feverishly then starting on Hannibal's belt. Hannibal grabs his hands again and Will growls in frustration, to which Hannibal simply smiles and presses a kiss to Will's forehead. "Patience." He murmurs.

"Please, I want to be closer." Will whispers, and Hannibal's smile widens. He nods once before freeing Will's hands once more. Will pulls Hannibal's shirt off and then lets his hand trace along the inside of Hannibal's thigh to accidentally-on-purpose graze his fingers along Hannibal's erection before unbuttoning his pants. Hannibal takes them off as well as his underwear, and then there is no more clothing between them. No more stubborn space seperating them. 

Hannibal licks along the seem of Will's lips, and Will tilts his jaw upward and parts his lips to grant Hannibal better access. He runs his hands tirelessly along Hannibal's back until they find their place at the back of Hannibal's neck.

Will thinks of how easy it would be to snap Hannibal's neck here and now. Wonders if that would break the spell, or if he's cursed to lust after this horrible man forever. He loses his train of thought when Hannibal kisses him roughly and moans against Will's mouth. Will answers with his own moan, and then Hannibal is up and off in the corner of the room, grabbing a condom and lube from the dresser drawer. Will watches through half-lidded eyes. Listens to the sound of his own heart thrumming relentlessly in his ears. Hannibal returns, and Will shuts his eyes, wanting to feel but not to see.

Hannibal is kissing him again, and Will sighs against Hannibal's lips when he feels two slick fingers slide inside him. Together they're like clockwork, each inhaling the other's exhales as they move smoothly together. Hannibal orchestrates Will's moans as though each sound he pulls from Will is intentional. He whispers to Will that it's like music as he spreads Will even more. And Will is all but lost in the sensation. It feels like Hannibal must have more than two hands because Will's body is a live wire, on fire with feeling as Hannibal touches and kisses and bites him everywhere.

The teasing gets to such a point that Will's mantra is a slurred string of "please" and "more" and "god I need it." But Hannibal likes to keep him on the edge as long as Will can possibly stand. Will finally reaches the point that he pulls himself against the restraint of the collar, and growls his demand in Hannibal's ear.

"Fuck me already."

"Keep begging."

"No."

And then Hannibal removes his fingers and replaces them with his cock and Will mewls, arching his back and clawing at the bed. Hannibal fucks into him without mercy, and Will's eyes well with tears from over stimulation. When the tears spill, Hannibal kisses them away, but he never loses his rough pace. Will's eyes roll back in bliss, and Hannibal gently thumbs along Will's cheek and jaw. The stark contrast between Hannibal pounding into him and Hannibal's caresses makes Will cry out sharply, and he feels Hannibal come inside him with five hot spurts. Before Will has time to say anything, Hannibal's mouth is around his erection. It's almost frightening to be in a cannibal's mouth and to trust him in this way, and this makes Will all the more excited. He bucks his hips into Hannibal's mouth, and Hannibal digs his nails into Will's ribs, drawing blood. 

Will tangles his hands into Hannibal's hair, and  _god_  he's so close. But Hannibal knows exactly how to hold him at the edge of oblivion. To Will, Hannibal seems omnipresent and all knowing. Right now, Will feels like his soul and his fate are in Hannibal's hands. 

"Please." He whimpers, feeling Hannibal's tongue curl around the length of him. Hannibal's eyes flicker to meet Will's, and they have never before looked so red. They look like the eyes of a wild animal. "Please let me..."

Hannibal sucks roughly and flicks his tongue on the head of Will's cock before pulling away.

"Do you still hate me?" He asks before running his tongue along Will's shaft. 

"Yes." Will hisses, rolling his head back and letting his hand become more entatangled in Hannibal's hair. Hannibal takes him into his mouth again, and Will trembles. "I'm gonna..." Hannibal pulls away again, and Will nearly roars in protest. 

"Do you love me?" Hannibal asks, taking Will into his hand and stroking at an infuriatingly slow pace. Will doesn't say anything, just gasps haggard breaths into the darkness, feeling like he's on the brink of madness. "Will, do you love me?" 

"Yes!" Will shouts, and he's about to cry again. Hannibal tightens his grip. Will blinks through the tears, groaning half from pleasure and half from pain.

"Say it." Hannibal commands.

"I love you." Will sobs, and Hannibal doesn't have to do anything more. His own confession is his undoing and he unravels completely. Comes for what feels like forever, and the tears roll down his cheeks. Hannibal licks him clean and unfastens the leash as Will slowly comes down from his high. Then Hannibal is scooping him up and carrying him to the bathroom. He lets Will stand on his feet, though Will isn't quite sure he can really stand without gripping the edge of the sink. Hannibal starts to fill the bathtub with water and lavender oil, then lights all of the candles in the room. Will blinks numbly, staring at nothing.

When the tub is nearly full, Hannibal tests the water temperature and turns off the faucet, then turns and gently guides Will to the tub, holding his hand and waist to steady him as Will climbs into the hot water. Then Hannibal gets in behind him and pulls Will back into his chest, wrapping his arms around Will's shoulders to rub soothing cirlces into his sternum. Will lets out a ragged sigh, and Hannibal presses kisses into his steam-dampened hair.

"I killed that woman." He whispers. And Hannibal presses gentle kisses along the crook of his neck. "I made a mess of her."

"Yes. But you have me to clean up your messes." Hannibal purrs, and Will relaxes slightly. Lets Hannibal take the sea sponge from the edge of the tub and gently clean him with it. Will tries to feel regret, but his mind is completely empty. There's no more fear or confusion. Where his thoughts used to drown him, there's now a sort of uneasy peace all around him that seems to flicker with the candlelight. Will has never experienced this much clarity.

Hannibal cleans them both thoroughly, and Will simply leans limply into Hannibal like a rag doll. After a while, they just sit in the warm and aromatic water, folded together in the dim glow of the candles.

Hannibal stands and gets out of the tub, and pulls Will up with him, taking a fluffy white towel and rubbing it over Will. Will doesn't move, simply allows Hannibal to dry him and wrap him in the towel. 

"Just a moment." Hannibal says, disappearing from the bathroom. He returns moments later, and before Will knows what's happening, Hannibal is handcuffing him to the sink.

"What the fuck?" Will cries, and Hannibal strokes his hair with a sympathetic smile. 

"I'll be back soon, don't try anything unwise." Hannibal instructs with maddeningly a calm tone. Will seethes, tugging violently against the restraint. "I will gag you if it proves necessary." 

"Why are you doing this?" Will demands, watching Hannibal rise to his feet. 

"I'm cleaning your mess, as promised, dear Will." Hannibal says. "I need to know that you won't be in the way."

With that Hannibal turns to leave, then thinking of something, tilts his head back towards Will.

"We're leaving Italy tomorrow. I'll pack your things for you. Be good." And then Hannibal closes the door and leaves Will alone to fall apart. 

Will realizes with horror that he feels a hideous kind of hunger. That he wants to watch Hannibal marinade that woman's lungs in balsamic vinegar and taste his kill. The air is filled with the stench of rose and lavender, and Will knows he will never be able to smell flowers again without being reminded of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. It was an ambitious chapter and I had so many ideas that I wanted to execute well. I hope you guys like it, as I worked very hard, and it's my favorite chapter so far.  
> Comments, Critique, Kudos, Prompts and Praise always appreciated. :D


	9. The Knight In Bloody Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to act on my own open prompt, in which Will beats the hell out of Hannibal and then kisses his bloody face. 
> 
> "And how does that make you feel?" Will asks with a defiant glare. Hannibal chuckles darkly.
> 
> "I appreciate your venom, dear boy. But watch your tongue lest it be caught between my teeth."

Will hadn’t realized that he’d drifted into a dreamless sleep until Hannibal was standing above him, unlocking his handcuffs and freeing him from the sink.

Will rubs his wrists, grimacing. They’re red and raw and likely to be bruised in the morning. His arms are sore from hanging in such an awkward position. Hannibal offers him a small sympathetic smile, and that’s the final straw. The earth seems to tremble beneath Will and his skin feels as though it’s on fire. He allows himself to become pure, unbridled rage. Hannibal looks at him curiously, seeming to catch the anger in Will’s eyes.

Will hisses an exhale, rising to his feet and coming up swinging. Hannibal doesn’t seem entirely surprised, but he also doesn’t look like he’d expected Will to hit him quite so hard.

And Will doesn’t stop, he wants to destroy. Hannibal allows him to unleash his righteous fury, hardly even wincing while Will bruises his knuckles on Hannibal’s sharpened cheekbones. And Will is roaring like an animal, feeling alive for the first time since Hannibal had walked into his life. Feeling lucid and very much awake. 

He pounds into Hannibal’s face, smiling viciously when he sees that Hannibal is spitting out blood. Will takes Hannibal by the throat and squeezes, and Hannibal smiles through a mouthful of blood. His lip is split and will probably need stitches.

Good.

Will tightens his grip, tensing his fingers at Hannibal’s windpipe, and then he’s shoving Hannibal to the ground and straddling his chest to hit him again. But Hannibal grabs his wrist and gasps for air, and Will shivers. He wants to kill Hannibal, here and now. Choke and beat the life out of him. But Hannibal’s hand is tight and pleading at his arm, and Will is merciful. He releases his hands from Hannibal’s neck and the only sound in the room is their panting. 

"That’s my Will." Hannibal rasps, and Will lets out a ragged sigh. “Were you going to kill me?"

"Yes." Will answers, not getting up though the adrenaline is slowly fading. Hannibal eyes him a moment, and Will can tell that Hannibal’s face is swelling. He has a nasty black eye and the blood from his lip is trickling down his cheek. It’s the most unattractive that Hannibal has ever looked, his hair sticking to the sweat of his brow and his cheeks bruising inelegantly. Will smiles, and before he’s fully aware of what he’s doing, he licks the blood from Hannibal’s cheek, his tongue trailing its way back to Hannibal’s lips. He tongues at the cut there, and Hannibal groans. Will wonders if it’s a sound drawn from pleasure or pain. They kiss a moment, and it’s gentle. Almost sweet against the staunch contrast of the violence between them.

"I’ve created a monster." Hannibal muses, pushing Will off of him and rising to his feet, wiping at his face with a silken scarf. Will sits on the ground, staring up bitterly.

"And how does that make you feel?" Will asks with a defiant glare. Hannibal chuckles darkly.

"I appreciate your venom, dear boy. But watch your tongue lest it be caught between my teeth." Hannibal offers a hand to help him to his feet, and Will accepts it reluctantly. “You’ll find that I’ve removed our things from the room and cleaned up your little mess. I’ll give you a moment to collect yourself. Meet me at the car and we will leave Italy immediately."

Will looks around, and Hannibal is right. It looks like no one was in this room. Like they didn’t fuck and fight and kill here. Lucia’s body is gone, as is her blood. The air smells vaguely of chemicals, the only sign that anything happened here.

"Where is Stella?" Will asks, watching Hannibal straighten his hair. 

"Already in the car, dear Will." Hannibal assures him, closing the space between them and pressing a kiss to Will’s lips. Will sighs, unintentionally leaning into the kiss, and then Hannibal is leaving and gone, and Will is alone in the room.

He feels hollow and lost, realizing that he hadn’t really gotten the chance to appreciate Italy. He passes the table, pushing the memory of killing Lucia from his mind as he goes out to the terrace to stare out at the city one last time. 

Will smiles. He could throw himself from this balcony and put an end to all of this. But then, what would be the point? Will knows Hannibal will be the death of him, eventually. The end will come soon enough. Might as well enjoy it for now.

Will sighs and leaves the comfort of the balcony. He turns out the lights in the hotel room and glances around in the darkness one final time before opening the door. He stares again at those ominous golden numbers. His mind doesn’t catch on them this time. Still, he says a silent good bye and shuts the door behind himself without looking back.

Hannibal is waiting at the car, and upon seeing Will, he opens the passenger-side door. It would almost look like courtship to someone on the outside looking in.

Will gets into the car silently, and Stella whines softly at him from her kennel. Then Hannibal gets in and they drive off into the black night. 

Hannibal Lecter is no knight in shining armor, so there will never be a moment of riding into the sunset. Theirs is a kinship built in blood and demons and obsession. Weakness and dominance and teeth. 

Will stares out the window and watches Italy pass him by. Hannibal smiles at him, and he returns it. But Will’s smile is empty.

He is resigned; accepts his dark fate, whatever that may be. But he is not happy, and he will never be whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wrote this chapter I was listening to Kanye West's album Yeezus, which proved to be surprisingly fantastic soundtrack.


	10. Peel Me A Grape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gets lost, Hannibal wants to try more controversial therapy.

"Only two weeks more before the month is over." Hannibal's voice drifts into Will's consciousness like a lazy fog, catching on rays of morning sunlight and glistening with ethereal surrealism. Will blinks burying his face into the pillow. The trip to France seemed to go by quickly, but it was exhausting.

"What time is it?" Will asks, voice thick with sleep. 

"Nearly noon." Hannibal answers, setting his book down to stroke Will's curls. Will flinches, moves away, and Hannibal lets his hand fall onto the mattress, filling the space between them. "I thought to wake you, but it pleases me to see you sleeping without the claws of nightmares ripping into you."

Will knows that he's slept well ever since he killed Lucia, and he resents himself for that fact and tries to push it from his mind.

Stella noses at his hand, and he allows himself to smile, fingers tracing inelegant circles in her fur. 

"So what are you planning?" Will asks, letting his voice come across as cold. Hannibal cocks an eyebrow.

"Whatever do you mean?" He asks, and Will sniffs with a sneer.

"The month's almost up, and you're really not going to let me go. What do you have up your sleeve?" 

Hannibal smiles, seems proud of Will's courage and abrasiveness. 

"You think I won't hold true to my word, sweet Will?" Hannibal tilts his head with a thin smile.

"I think you'll find a way to make me stay." 

"Hm." Hannibal shrugs and rises from the bed. "Think what you will, but I believe in the end you will want to stay with me. Not because I have cunningly made it so, though I could, but because you will give into your truest natures and find that I really am the only companion suited for you." He pauses to put on his jacket. "I am going to the market. I'll be back in a few hours."

At that, Hannibal straightens his tie in front of the mirror, eyeing his reflection thoughtfully. Will imagines himself behind Hannibal, straightening his tie from behind and pressing a kiss to Hannibal's neck. In Will's vision, he imagined Hannibal smiling and cupping his jaw affectionately. Then Will imagines that he is snapping Hannibal's neck and laughing madly at his own reflection as the imagined Hannibal falls to his knees and into a crumpled heap on the floor. Will realizes both the idea of kissing Hannibal like a domesticated housewife and killing him hold an equal amount of appeal. 

Hannibal turns and smiles at him, as though he can see what Will is thinking. Then he is gone, and Will is alone in Paris.

He stretches and glances around their room. It's equally as decadent as the one in Italy, and Will wonders if they are going to be living in and out of hotel rooms forever or if they will find a house. One with a yard for Stella. He shakes his head, realizing that he is thinking as though he will be staying in Europe with Hannibal after the month is passed. 

Will can't afford to let himself think that way. Will can't surrender so easily. 

He pulls himself from the bed and sees that Hannibal has already left him brunch. Will examines it, and wonders who he might be eating today. Is it Lucia, or did Hannibal dispose of her in some other way?

He sighs and sits at the table, feeling a bit lonely and hollow as he takes a bite. Of course it tastes heavenly, as Hannibal's cooking always does. The flavors dance on Will's tongue, each bite offering something new and complex. It is, of course, an experience involving all of Will's senses. He thinks that the person who lent themselves to this meal were probably not so interesting or lovely in life as they are in death, arranged beautifully on this plate.

The thought only makes Will hate himself more, and he scrubs an exasperated hand over his eyes as he drinks the still-hot cup of coffee. 

There's something electric in the air. Something that's made Will anxious since Hannibal left for the market.

Something isn't quite right, he thinks nervously. Hannibal is certainly planning something. Maybe what Hannibal is planning is only to make Will paranoid so that he doesn't trust himself, but Will is uncomfortable just the same. He spoons the leftover food into Stella's bowl and looks out the window. Everything is poisoned by Hannibal's evil. Will, Stella, and all of Paris. 

Hannibal's villainy is conquering the air of Europe and turning it into something toxic and unbreathable, Will thinks. He grabs the dog's leash, ignoring the memory of its tug at his own throat, and puts it on her. She yips excitedly and Will notes that she's grown since Hannibal gave her to him. 

 

As they walk, Will drinks in Paris with somber appreciation. The city is truly beautiful and resplendent, full of life and music. However every woman who smiles flirtatiously at him makes Will's skin crawl. He suspects that everyone knows that he's in league with a serial killer, and their smiles are mocking him. Even the way the sun glows warmly on his skin seems like cruel satire.

Stella pulls on the leash, and Will follows obediently, not really looking around himself any more in fear that someone might look into his eyes and see his crimes. See that he's a monster who shares his bed with another monster, and that he doesn't belong in this beautiful city surrounded by all of these beautiful people. He belongs in a steel cage. 

He follows the roads which Stella leads him through, staring numbly at the ground. Feeling that he doesn't deserve to see the loveliness of Paris. Before long, he realizes that he is lost, and Will is swallowed by fear. 

He tries to keep calm, and to follow the roads back to where he came from, back to the safety of the hotel room, but everything just gets more foreign and confused. Before long, he finds himself in a park, and sits at a bench to bury his head in his his hands. He honestly has no idea where he is, or how to get back, and he can't sooth the tension in his gut.

He wonders if Hannibal will return to find him gone and get angry. It's likely that Hannibal will think he purposely tried to escape, maybe he'll try to kill him when he finds him. Will lies curled up around himself on the bench, and Stella whines, pulling restlessly against the leash. Will shuts his eyes with a shaky sigh, and tries his best not to panic. It is to no avail. He groans and wants to cry, and he can't help but feel that he will never find his way home. He's going to rot on this park bench in the middle of Paris if Hannibal doesn't find him and murder him first.

"Will." Hannibal stands before him, arms crossed and grocery bags at his feet. Will stares up at him, half terrified and half relieved. 

"Are you going to kill me?" Will whispers. Hannibal merely stares down at him incredulously. "I wasn't looking where I was going and I got lost." 

Hannibal's expression softens and he sighs, taking the leash from Will's hand and urging him to stand. Will rises shakily to his feet, eyes to the ground. "Come along Will."

"How did you find me?" Will asks softly.

"I smelled you." Hannibal responds simply. "The sweetness of your fear lets off a very particular scent." 

"That's ridiculous." Will says, but it isn't an accusation;he believes that Hannibal could track him with his sense of smell alone. 

He follows closely behind Hannibal like a small child, watching Hannibal's feet and half-wanting to reach out and hold Hannibal's hand for a sense of security. 

Will is embarrassed to find that the park is only a block away from the hotel, and if he'd kept walking a bit longer he would have found his way home. 

He helps Hannibal carry in the groceries, chewing his lip thoughtfully as Hannibal pulls the keys from his pocket and unlocks the door to their room. Then he's helping to put the groceries away in sullen silence. 

"Would you like to help me kill tonight?" Hannibal asks softly, and Will isn't sure if he hallucinated the words or not. But Hannibal is looking at him, expecting an answer, and Will stammers.

"I.. What? Hannibal, please don't."

"Do you prefer me to take control and make these decisions for you? So that you can blame your corruption on me later?" 

Will doesn't respond, instead glares into Hannibal's chest, refusing to make eye contact.

"Very well, then. You will help me kill tonight." Hannibal says, and Will drops the pomegranate he was about to put away. 

"No." He says, voice faltering weakly. Hannibal simply shrugs, grabbing the fruit Will dropped.

"I've made the decision for you, Will. I know it helps you sleep. Simply accept what you are and let me inspire you."

Will sinks to the nearest chair and tugs his shaking hands through his hair. 

"I hate you so much." He whispers, shutting his eyes.

"That's not all, though." Hannibal says simply, smiling sympathetically. "You also hate yourself."

"Yes."

"And you love me. I'm sure this is all very difficult for you and your intrinsic sense of morality. But this is the only therapy that works for you."

"I want to die." Will breathes, slumping woefully in his seat.

"No, you want to kill, and this makes you feel that you deserve to die. let go of this notion and you will be truly free."

Hannibal slices through a grape, and Will watches him with weary but enraptured attention. Hannibal walks to him and lets Will rest his head against him. He offers the peeled grape to Will, and Will allows himself to be hand fed. Hannibal peels another grape, deliberately slicing his own finger. He puts it to Will's lips, and Will licks the blood away.

"You'll kill with me tonight, my dear remarkable Will. And whether you admit to it or not, you will enjoy yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Rob Dougan and VAST while writing this chapter. I highly recommend giving both a listen.  
> Comments, kudos, etc. always appreciated. I love you guys a lot.


	11. The American

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will scout their next victim

Collin Koffman is an American man, brought to France on the insistence of his young fiance. She is smart enough, and pretty enough, and she doesn't protest too much when he fucks other girls. Sometimes he lets her in on it and they have threesomes, sometimes he prefers to tell her to take a walk.

She had more spirit at the start of their relationship, and they used to fight, but now she seems more resigned to her fate. He makes sure that she knows how expensive the tickets to Paris cost so she won't nag at him when he brings the hot French girl he met at the coffee shop last night to their motel room later. He is still undecided as to whether or not he'll let her join.

They walk hand in hand through the streets, and he grimaces with irritation every time she wants to go to an art museum or book store, or when she bends to pet other people's dogs. She's always liked dogs.

She runs ahead of him to dote affectionately on a German shepherd puppy, and he rolls his eyes. Surely the two men walking the dog have places to be, and surely she is causing them an inconvenience. He wishes she weren't so fucking stupid.

"Do you have to fawn over every animal you see?" He asks, and she frowns up at him, slowly rising. She blushes at the two men with the dog and mumbles an apology without looking at them. She's always mumbling. "Sorry about my fiance." He says.

"It's alright." The one with glasses says softly, looking at her with what seems like longing. "I understand the urge." Collin supposes this guy is checking out his girlfriend, but she doesn't really notice. Neither of them like eye contact. The man in the suit hasn't said anything, but something in his gaze makes Collin uncomfortable. The suit has no problem with eye contact.

"So you guys are American. That's a relief." Says Collin. "My French is rusty, I'm better with Spanish." 

"Well I'm American." Glasses says, staring at the ground and starting to sweat. He points to the suit, who seems stare into Collin rather than at him. "He's Lithuanian." 

"Lithuanian? I'm unfamiliar." Collin says with a frown, making a mental note to learn more about Lithuanian culture. Collin likes to teach himself trivial facts so that he can offer a lot in conversation, and it frustrates him that he has nothing to say about Lithuania; he's disappointed that he can't impress The Suit, who continues to stare with fiery intensity. 

"What's her name?" His fiance asks, looking up at Glasses with her glittering green eyes. Collin grits his teeth.

"Stella." He says with a small smile. She grins and starts to pet the puppy again,

"Come on, they don't have time for you to cuddle their fucking puppy all day." Collin demands, grabbing his fiance's hand roughly and dragging her to his side. She makes a small noise in protest but obeys. The Suit stares at him with an unreadable expression, whereas Glasses just looks uncomfortable. 

"Nice meeting you." The Suit finally speaks, and his accent is heavy and strange in comparison to all of the Parisians Collin has spoken to on their trip. The two men walk away, and Collin could swear he hears Glasses say:

"Him, but not her."


	12. Hook, Line, Sinker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is particularly gruesome, and not for the faint o' heart. Hannibal's POV for once.  
> If Killer!Will strikes your fancy, this is the chapter for you.

Hannibal watches Will closely as they walk to the bar. He's no longer the sheepish and awkward boy that Hannibal had come to know in the beginning. Now Will is alert and focused and so utterly lovely that Hannibal could kiss him.

But there will be time for that later.

Will stalks his prey. The same man they ran into by chance earlier, only now his fiance is no where in sight. Instead he's chatting up a pretty French girl with choppy black hair, who smiles crookedly in sparkly pink lipgloss. 

Hannibal is glad for Will's taste in victims. This fellow is one whom Hannibal would have been happy to remove from the world had Will not decided to.

Will walks up and gives a small wave.

"Oh hey, it's the American and the Lithuanian." The man says with a cheap smile.

His long dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail. He looks to be partially Native American, Hannibal suspects. His smile is almost predatory, and he has the air of a car salesman. There's something slimy about him that makes Hannibal almost not want to eat him. This man is junk food. He wears a cheap and tightly tailored black suit jacket, and pants that are a different shade of black. Hannibal notes that the pants are stained, and the man smells like sour sweat, unclean clothes, and too-much cologne, which mingles repulsively with the stench of the man's overwhelming testosterone. He wears a bright red satin tie that is offensive in contrast to his dark purple shirt, which is unbuttoned to his clavicle. His long stringy hair, lazily pulled back, falls in strands before his brown eyes, and he wears a trilby, which he is surely mistaking for a fedora. He looks as though he tried to put himself together in a presentable manner and fell tragically short. Faking sophistication and instead coming across as repugnant and lazy. There's an arrogance in this man's eyes, and Hannibal can't resist sneering at the thought of serving him on a plate.

"Yeah, hey." Says Will. "We didn't catch your name earlier."

"Oh it's Collin. Collin Koffman." He says, seeming mildly irritated that they are distracting him from the attractive woman sitting next to him. 

"I'm Will, and this is Hannibal." Will says with a dark smile. "Mind if we join you?"

"No, not at all." Collin replies, and the French girl with the pink lipgloss gets bored and stands to go without saying goodbye. Collin watches after her for a moment, but doesn't seem to lament her absence. 

Will buys Collin a drink, and they discuss women and politics. Not surprisingly, Collin comes off as a sexist and feigns intellectualism, only able to share trivial facts which he uses to come across as intelligent. Hannibal has never been so eager to rid the world of someone in his life, and he has to admit that his patience is wearing thin. He nudges Will's hand, giving him a meaningful glance, and Will nods slightly. When Collin leaves to use the restroom, Will drugs his drink, and the night's plans have officially begun.

Hannibal feels the rush of the hunt in his bloodstream, breathing in deeply and closing his eyes. It's an unspeakable pleasure to have Will by his side for this, and he knows that Will is going to give into his darkest urges tonight. In fact, Will is giving in much more easily than Hannibal had expected he would.

Collin returns and takes a sip of his cheap wine, which he is likely drinking only to appear refined. Probably, it is to attract women. Hannibal finds every fiber of this man distasteful. 

No matter. This will be over soon.

"Any way, like I was saying." Collin says, and Hannibal notes that his tone is constantly sticky with arrogance and condescension. He likes the sound of his own voice, Hannibal suspects. Either that or he's making up for the fact that he hates the sound of his own voice. Hannibal keeps his psychological observations to himself. "She's great. She's my best friend. But there's nothing wrong with wanting other women, I wish she would just understand that, you know? It doesn't mean anything is wrong with her, I just like to be social. I'm a sexual creature and I wish she'd get off my ass about it." 

Koffman is beginning to slur his speech, and Hannibal smirks as he finishes the rest of his wine. He'll be a stumbling mess in no time, and then Will will have his way with him. 

Will simply nods, not seeming to listen. He looks to be as eager to kill Koffman as Hannibal is. Hannibal grins adoringly at him

"I must have drank too much." Koffman says suddenly with a dopey grin. "Can you guys maybe call me a taxi?"

"Absolutely." Hannibal smiles. "Why don't we all go outside and get some air?"

\-----

 

It was easy enough to walk the half-conscious man back to their hotel room. Koffman put up no fight along the way, simply spoke incoherently  about his job in telemarketing. He even attempted to sell Will cable.

They put him on the bed, and he just stares up at the ceiling, eyes sightless and clouded in his haze.

"I want him conscious when I do it." Will says softly, as though he believes that if he says is it quietly enough, his conscience won't hear. Hannibal smiles and nods.

"I prefer it that way as well." He says, and Will grimaces. 

Will helps Hannibal to bind Koffman to the shower curtain rod so that he's hanging by his wrists, and though they don't speak as they do it, Hannibal smiles warmly because there's something comfortable in having a partner to do this with, and he knows he is wise to have chosen Will.

Will sits and waits for Koffman to come to his senses, and slowly, Koiffman does, head rolling around, eyes blinking in dazed terror. He tries to yell around the gag and finds that all that comes out is an ugly muffled sound.

Hannibal simply stands in the corner of the room, watching from the shadows. This is Will's creation about to unfold, Hannibal will not be in the way.

Will half-circles his prey like a shark, blue eyes dark and dangerous. Koffman aggressively struggles against his binds, and Will shushes him. 

"Shh, shhhh. It's no use." Will whispers, and Hannibal's breath hitches in his throat.

Will moves with such superhuman grace, and Hannibal thinks that he was born for this. 

They had discussed how it would be done earlier, and Will had considered doing something similar to the Chesapeake murders. Hannibal had spoke against that, telling Will that this was his project to work on and his alone. To just let it happen naturally.

Now Will holds one of Hannibal's scalpels in the light, and he slowly and experimentally slices it down Koffman's arm. Will seems to enjoy skinning him alive for a moment, throwing the raw strips of meat to the dog, who sniffs it curiously before eating it. Hannibal smiles as Will stops a moment to think, and then reaches for his tackle box and pulls out several fishing hooks, looking for the best places to thread them through Koffman's skin. He focuses primarily on the face, giving special attention to Koffman's eyes and mouth.

 _That's more like it,_  Hannibal thinks.  _This is you, showing through. This is your voice. Your design._

"Oh Will, you're exquisite." Hannibal whispers. Will doesn't hear him over Koffman's tortured screams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Will, what have you done?


	13. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will deals with the ramification of killing someone, and Hannibal cleans up Will's messes.

By the time Will is finished with Koffman, the bathtub is a quarter filled with blood. Most of it from when Will had wrapped fishing line around Koffman's tongue so tightly that the line sliced completely through. That's when the screaming had stopped.

Will hadn't exactly meant for that to happen, but he didn't mind. Still, blood had spurted everywhere and made a mess of Will and the surrounding area. He thought he had heard Hannibal laughing, but when he turned to look, Hannibal was simply watching with a serene level of calm. So like a scientist or an audience member, Hannibal is.

 

Will backs away as soon as Koffman stops moving- stops breathing, and Will sees what he has done. Sees this man, once a living, breathing, feeling thing, crucified and skinned alive. His final moments were gruesome, and he probably never got to tell his fiance that he loved her one last time. Will tries not to think about her, and consoles himself by believing that she would probably thank him.

He falls to his knees in front of the toilet and vomits violently, feeling guilty because he doesn't feel more guilty. He enjoyed himself, just as Hannibal had said that he would. He retches again, groaning and grasping at the toilet seat for stability.

Hannibal steps forward and studies Will's good work a moment, seeming to appreciate it like a fine art piece.

"Much better this time, Will." He says, and Will's ears grow warm at the sound of praise. Will vomits again. 

They take Koffman down and put him into the bathtub. Will doesn't feel confident in standing so he leaves the harsh light of the bathroom to lie down. Hannibal makes him dispose of his shirt first, as not to stain the bed.

Will falls onto the mattress and shuts his eyes, tries to escape the thoughts of blood and death and how comfortable he has become with them. After a few moments, Hannibal steps out of the bathroom, a bit of blood smeared on his cheek.

"Do you want to leave this somewhere as on display, or would you prefer to make further use of him, as I would?"

"I'm not an artist, just turn him into lasagna and be done with it." Will mutters. Hannibal smiles, and with a nod he returns to the bathroom, again cleaning up Will's messes. 

Stella jumps onto the bed and snuggles into his side, and Will sighs, wrapping himself around her and burying his face into her fur.

"I'm a monster, Stella. You shouldn't want to cuddle with me."

The dog yawns in reply, licking lazily at his face a moment before shutting her eyes. 

"Will, could you come here a moment?" Hannibal calls, and Will walks to to the bathroom. "His phone is in his pocket and it keeps ringing. My hands are quite full at the moment. Would you be so kind as to take it out and turn it off for me?" 

Will nods and reaches into Koffman's jacket pocket, which vibrates. He feels for the phone and pulls it out, but it slips from his sweaty hand and hits the floor with a crash, the screen lighting up.

"Hello? Collin, are you there?" The small muffled voice of Koffman's fiance crackles, and Will is paralyzed with fear. "Collin? Are you still at the bar?" 

"Hang up the phone." Hannibal hisses, and Will scrambles to the ground to turn off the phone. 

"Shit." Will whispers.

"It's nothing to worry about." Hannibal says, wiping his hands. "We will dispose of his personal effects and be done with it."

"What if he told her he was with us when he went to the bathroom at the bar? We told him our real names."

"Get a hold of yourself Will." Hannibal instructs sharply, and Will swallows. The phone rings again, and Will jumps. Hannibal picks up the phone and silences it. "If she proves to be a problem, we can deal with that. At the moment, we are fine. You're fine, Will."

Will nods and pulls himself off of the linoleum floor. 

"I don't want to kill her." Will says softly, and Hannibal presses a kiss to his temple.

"Nor do I. It's unlikely that we will need to, so go lay down and I will cook for us in a while."

Will does as he is told, and wonders where all of his morals slipped away to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think?


	14. Two Sides of the Same Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to final chapter, and shit goes down. Prepare yourselves.

Will stays on the bed with Stella, and doesn't really watch or listen while Hannibal cleans up and begins to cook some part of Koffman that Will doesn't want to give thought to. 

He simply stares at the ceiling and tries to empty his mind. Tries to ignore the satisfying rush that comes after killing someone. The thrilling pleasure that comes with taking a life into his hands and deciding a stranger's dark fate, beating the screams out of them and creating art in the blood that flows.

No one would be surprised. Will always had a predisposition towards darker, more violent thoughts. He could slip into killer's minds all too easily, feel the phantoms of their lusts and see their thoughts splayed before him like pictures in a book. Will was always hanging on by a thin thread, and Hannibal was the one with the scissors to snip it, sending Will spiraling towards sweet oblivion. 

Hannibal was right, of course. He and Will are cut from the same cloth. Just alike. all it took was a push in the right direction and Will's empathy was easily used against him; to turn him into a monster. There's no turning back now. 

He had thought of Koffman's pretty fiance when he'd threaded hooks through Koffman's lips. Felt the ghost of her certain relief. Surely she'd be happy to be rid of this insect of a man. Surely she'd thank Will for freeing her. 

It was a sort of therapy; a twisted kind of catharsis, to kill Koffman. To do what he'd wanted to do to Hannibal, and to free Koffman's fiance in the way that Will so desperately wanted to be free. 

"Come Will." Hannibal calls, and Will sighs before slowly approaching the table. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry." Will says, but he eats anyway. Stella rests at his feet.

\----

Hannibal is reading in bed when Will wakes beside him, and Will quietly watches for a while, content. Hannibal glances up and smiles, and seems mildly surprised when Will takes the book from his hands and carelessly drops it on the nightstand before pulling Hannibal by his shirt into a kiss. Hannibal sighs against Will's lips, and Will allows himself to be more aggressive, pulling Hannibal impossibly closer and biting viciously at his lips and tongue. 

"Will." Hannibal breathes the name, voice raspy and dark at the edges. Will opens his eyes and stares into Hannibal's for a long moment, threading his fingers through Hannibal's hair. "I have to go."

"You always have to go." Will replies, tracing his fingers down the back of Hannibal's neck, along his shoulders, up his throat, and along the line of his jaw. Hannibal stares with lust-darkened eyes, seeming to debate whether to stay or go. 

"You're incredibly tempting, dear one." Hannibal says with a small smile, and Will knows that this means Hannibal has decided on leaving. Will frowns and rolls over so that he straddles Hannibal's hips. "You've gotten quite bold." Hannibal laughs softly, caressing Will's cheek. "You know I could never stay away from you for too long. Consider that a promise."

"I wish you would stay." Will mutters, bending to press a kiss to Hannibal's throat and listening to the way Hannibal's breath catches just slightly, feeling the subtle quickening of Hannibal's pulse beneath his lips. Will licks at the pulse point and then bites gently.

"I suppose I don't have to go right away." Hannibal says, and Will gladly allows his hands to roam freely along Hannibal's chest before bending to hungrily claim Hannibal's mouth. Will dominates the kiss, and Hannibal lets him. After a while, Hannibal is moaning into Will's mouth, and Will can feel his erection harden through the blankets between them. Will is confident, and grinds against Hannibal's hips, deepening the kiss, but Hannibal takes Will's hands and bends them behind his back. Will lets out a small cry, and Hannibal easily slides out from beneath him to get off of the bed. Of course, Will can't win. Not really. But Hannibal enjoyed making him think he'd been in control for a moment. 

Will watches Hannibal get dressed sullenly, feeling rejected and still aroused. Hannibal catches his stare in the mirror, offers him a pitying smile, and Will stands and walks to Hannibal, straightening his tie and jacket then resting his cheek to Hannibal's chest. 

"You please me." Hannibal says softly, wrapping his arms around Will and holding him close. 

"I don't want you to go. Not today." Will says softly, pulling away to look into Hannibal's face. Hannibal simply shakes his head and kisses Will slowly, licking his lips apart and then sucking gently at Will's lower lip. 

"I won't be gone long, my dear, sweet Will." Hannibal says, pulling away and leaving Will cold and lonely. 

Hannibal starts for the door, then, seeming to have forgotten something, turns to look at Will.

"Ah, if you would, will you kindly dispose of that man's phone? It's still on the bathroom counter." Hannibal doesn't wait for a reply, simply leaves Will to sulk in the hotel room. 

Will watches Hannibal walk to his car from the window before going into the bathroom for the phone. He wonders how he's meant to dispose of it, exactly, feeling the prickling of fear at the back of his neck. He decides to check to see if Koffman called his fiance while they were at the bar, just to be sure.

He turns the phone on and looks through the outgoing text messages and calls. Koffman did text her- her name is Riley. He only told her that he would be home late, if at all. the message simply instructed her not to wait up. Will sighs in relief and wipes the phone of any fingerprints before putting Stella's leash on her and stepping out the door, phone in pocket.

It's a cloudy day, but occasionally the sun peaks from behind the clouds and paints Paris in golden warmth. Will basks in the sun, smiling. Thinks that if he were ever to be free of Hannibal, that he might return here some day. He isn't looking where he's going, but it doesn't matter. He's more familiar with the area now and can find his way back.

"Stella!" A familiar voice exclaims, and Will's stomach lurches when he sees Koffman's fiance bending to pet Stella's belly. "Hi." She smiles warmly up at Will, and Will forces a pained smile in return, the weight of Koffman's phone heavy in his pocket. 

"Hello again." He says, resisting the urge to make a break for it. 

"Sorry if I'm stopping you from being anywhere you need to be, I can't really help myself around dogs." She says, bright green eyes glittering up at him, a welcome change from Hannibal's cold maroon eyes. Will swallows, nodding anxiously.

"It's um. I don't have to be anywhere, so it's no trouble. I'm the same way. About dogs, I mean." He glances around, half-paranoid that Hannibal is watching. 

"I'm Riley." She says, standing straight. Her strawberry blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders and she wears a tee shirt for a band that Will doesn't recognize. She also wears a pair of pink shorts over black tights. Her leather boots are the same shade of pink as her finger nails, but her lips are bright red. It brings out her freckles and the color of her eyes, which are framed with long dark lashes. In a way, she reminds him of Abigail, in another way, she reminds him of himsel. If he were happier.

"I'm John. John Anderson." Will says, recalling the false name that Hannibal had given him. She smiles.

"Nice to meet you, John. Hey, do you maybe want to grab a coffee or something? Since you said you don't have anywhere to be, and as it so happens, neither do I." There's a faint flash of sadness in her tone at the last part of the sentence that catches Will's empathy and brings a lump to his throat. She's alone in one of the most beautiful cities in the world because Will brutalized her fiance. 

"Yeah, sure." He says softly. "Where's you boyfriend today?" 

He knows it's a cruel question to ask, but he feels he has to ask it any way. She grimaces, and they start to walk.

"I dunno. Probably in some French girl's bed. We had a fight yesterday and he likes to sleep around to prove a point." 

"Why do you stay with someone like that?" Will asks, and she shrugs, sighing.

"I don't know. I guess it's easy to stay with someone when you love them. He's all I have. I think walking away would be..." She trails off, contemplating the appropriate word.

"Scary." He finishes her sentence for her, his chest tightening.

"Yeah." She laughs softly in embarrassment. "Yeah, I guess it's too scary to leave." 

"I think I understand. Once he's in your bloodstream, there's no washing him out." Will says quietly. "Listen, I have a really nice espresso maker in my hotel room, why don't we go there instead of a cafe?"

\----

They approach the hotel room, and Will feels his pocket for his key, which Hannibal allowed him to have so that he could take Stella for walks. 

"Can you excuse me a sec?" Riley says, and Will nods. She steps away and pulls her phone from her purse, dialing a number and putting the phone to her ear. 

Will fumbles and drops the room key, and Stella walks around in a circle as he leans to pick it up, entangling his ankles with her leash. He starts to trip, and as he stumbles, the phone falls from his pocket and clatters at Riley's feet. It lights up, and the screen reads INCOMING CALL: RILEY in ominous bold letters as the phone vibrates on the floor. 

Riley drops her own phone and stares at him with wide frightened eyes, and he simply watches Koffman's phone go silent with sinking dread.

This is precisely what he didn't want to have happen. 

He doesn't see Hannibal approach Riley from behind. Only notices when Hannibal wraps his hands around her throat and she struggles breathlessly against him as he lifts her off of her feet. 

"Open the door Will." Hannibal commands in a whisper, and Will does, falling through it and sinking to the floor as Hannibal drags Riley inside. "Did anyone see you together?"

"I don't think so." Will answers softly. Hannibal hands him a linoleum knife, and Will stares at it in his shaking hand, confused.

"Kill her, Will. Make it quick if you wish, but we can't keep her alive." Will stares at Hannibal a moment, then looks at Riley.

"I can't." Will whispers. "No, I can't."

"Will." 

"No!" Will screams, and Stella barks in response to the noise.

"Then give me the knife." Hannibal demands, eyes dangerous.

"No, I won't let her die. Can't you see she's just like me?" Will chokes back a sob, and Hannibal sighs.

"You're allowing your empathy to get the best of you. She cannot live with what she knows. If you had left her alone, this wouldn't be the case. Come, now, Will. Finish what you have started."

Will nods, steadying his hand and poising the knife, but not to stab Riley. He means to kill Hannibal. To finish what he started. Hannibal sees it in his face, and moves out of the way quickly, grabbing Will's wrist and slashing the knife into Will's abdomen. Will crumbles in Hannibal's arms, and Hannibal soothes him as blood oozes from Will's abdomen and lips. 

"Shhh Will. It's quite alright. I will clean your messes once more."

Will whimpers in Hannibal's arms, feeling defeated and fighting weakly against the blackening of his vision. His limbs feel cold and numb, but he allows himself to lift the knife and slash it against Hannibal's throat. Hannibal drops him and hisses, and then everything fades out into accomadating emptiness. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

\----

When Will opens his eyes, he is in a hospital room. He's unsure of which country he is in, but there is a card on the bedside table. Will reaches for it, and feels the tug of stitches in his side, reaching from his ribs to his navel. Inside the card is one hundred thousand dollars, a letter on fine stationery, and a plane ticket from France to the United States. Will's fingers tremble with the letter, and he reads it slowly.

 

_My Dear Will,_

_It seems our time together has come to a tragic end. Your wounds may heal, yet the scars remain. I think of you every day._

_I will keep my promises to you, and return to you on some distant golden day. Your dog is in the animal shelter across the street. They will return her to you if you are released from the confinement of your hospital bed before the month's end. Otherwise, I fear that she will be euthanized._

_I must apologize to you, Will. I told you that Europe would be good for you. I was mistaken. Just the same, we really mustn't live in regrets of the past._

_I  suppose I never had the chance to say it aloud:_

_I love you Will, and I will always._

_sincerest regards,_

_Hannibal Lecter_

_  
_Will lets out a heavy sigh and leans back into his pillow. He wonders what cruel fate must have met Riley. He wonders if he will be released from the hospital in time to save Stella from the pound. He wonders where Hannibal is now, if he is nearby, if he is watching.

And Will wonders if killing is something that exisits in his blood now. If once he returns to his life in America, he will continue to murder, or if it's a habit he can simply break from. 

 

 

_"There, there." Hannibal purred. "In no time at all, we'll be sipping espresso together in a European cafe, an this will all be behind us."_

_"Until you start a body count in Europe." Will answered._

_"Or until you do."_

 

So much for a romantic getaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left before this story is over. Phew.
> 
> I take prompt requests and adore praise more than anything.  
> Here's my tumblr: cannibals-in-pajamabals.tumblr.com  
> Feel free to follow me if you want. :D
> 
> I was listening to Bach, Beethoven and Mozart while I wrote this.


	15. Epilogue:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, dear friends, we are at our journey's end.   
> Till death do them part.

Will Graham wipes dirt from his weathered hands as he walks from the grave. He did not bother marking it, as he has lost much of his taste for sentiment over time. The only indication that something lies buried beneath the unturned soil is the time-faded pink collar and leash, riddled in chipped and dingy crystals that once spelled the name "Stella Matutina", which Will has left on top of the soft earth. 

His face is smeared with dirt and still-warm tears, and his glasses are foggy with dust from digging the hole. 

Though the years have spun by like woven thread, creating the sad and violent tapestry of Will's life, the scar on Will's abdomen still stings from time to time, an almost poetic reminder of the horrors he'd experiences in Europe. 

Will's most recent kill had reached out blindly and touched the scar, and in doing so, brought many of Will's regrets and fears to the surface. Nothing else about the kill had stood out, really. Will had begun to gut the man, much like a fish, and the man's hand had grasped out and dug desperately into Will's side, feeling the raised line of the scar with fatal curiosity. Will jumped in surprise, wincing at the memories more than the physical pain, and finished killing his victim much more quickly than he had originally intended. Then Will had carried the body outside and let it sink to the bottom of the bay, weighted with cinder blocks. He watched the body drift into the black water, absentmindedly stroking the scar through his shirt.

Stella, in her old age, could no longer follow Will when he disposed of his kills. Her arthritis was getting to be so bad that the dog couldn't lay down without suffering much difficulty.

When Will had returned to his cottage after dropping the man's body into the murky depths of the bay, Stella's breathing was agonizingly labored, and it was clear to see that no amount of morphine short of a lethal dose would ease her pain. He knew what needed to be done.

It was a merciful kill, but he had wept all the while, burying his face into his beloved companion's warm fur one final time as her breathing raggedly slowed and then, finally, stopped.

Will didn't stop weeping until he had finished burying her, and he was overcome with a numb and darkened apathy. 

Now, with the shovel leaning against his hip, he takes a swig of whiskey, enjoying the hideous burn that slithers down his throat. He knows Hannibal is there, can see his shadow stretching out from the tree behind which he stands. 

He wonders if this is the day that one of them claims the other's life. Imagines that Hannibal Lecter must be the angel of death. A grim reaper coming to make claim on Will's tarnished soul.

"Hello, Will." Hannibal says, stepping out from the shadows and into the moonlight. Will looks at him with weary disdain. 

"So, have you finally come to finish the job?'

"If you are asking if I have come to kill you, the answer is no." Hannibal says. Will notes that Hannibal hasn't aged much, looks almost the same. The same can't be said for himself; he knows he looks as though he's at least ten years older than he is. Alcoholism and misery will do that to a person.

"Another romantic vacation, then." Will smiles bitterly. "I should take your head off where you stand, you know that?"

"If it would please you to do so." Hannibal says calmly, notioning towards Will's shovel in invitation. They both know that Will won't do it. "Time has been unkind to you."

"I'm aware.": 

"I've missed you, Will." 

There's a cold silence, but Will moves to his place at Hannibal's side, and they walk back to Will's cottage. Will can see the glint of the knife Hannibal holds in the moonlight, and he tightens his grip on the handle of the shovel, ready to use it to end Hannibal's life. 

One of them will go down swinging tonight, Will knows. He no longer has use for the Devil on his shoulder, and Hannibal has no use for the mind games they used to play.

There's something unspoken hanging in the air that Will can't quite grasp. It feels like an 'I love you' that died on someone's tongue before they had the chance to say it, only it hurts more. 

They enter Will's home. Hannibal aims his blade, and Will raises his shovel. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's over, I feel so hollow.  
> Thanks to all who read my sad little story about two murderers and their dog. I love you all. 
> 
> The story was finished while I listened to The Ravenstag by Halia Meguid, and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.


End file.
